Quest for the Truth
by AiredaleLady
Summary: Fred comes across a mystery that will take him deep into his family's past, and lead him into his future.
1. Part 1: New Life, New World

Quest for the Truth

By Mlle. Dinkley

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A "Scooby-Doo" fan fiction piece inspired by Disney's "The Lion King."

Author's Note:As far as Scooby-Doo fan favorites go, Fred Jones is usually at the bottom of the list. It seems that many fans dislike him, citing his dictatorial ways and seemingly non-existent personality. He tends to be neglected by fan fiction writers, too, as many consider him to be a boring character. It is true that in comparison with the other characters, not much is known about Fred's personality and family background, but that is what makes him interesting for fan fiction writers.

I got the idea for this story while watching "The Lion King." And while there are certain recognizable elements (and even lines of dialogue) from the movie in this story, this is not a 'Scooby-Doo'/Hanna-Barbera retelling of the Disney tale. What I wanted to do here was to write a "coming-of-age" story that centered on the least popular character in the gang, Fred Jones.

Enjoy.

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PART 1: New Life, New World

"Congratulations, it's a boy."

Kimberly Jones sat upright in the hospital bed, cradling a tiny bundle in her arms. It had been an arduous, eight hours of labor, but it had all been worth it, for she now held in her arms a beautiful child, the product of her and her beloved husband, Frank. And while she knew that she would have nearly eighteen very special years ahead of her, she savored those first moments of contact, for she knew that there was something very magical about the first hours of a baby's life. Glancing at the infant, she drifted off into a daydream, wondering exactly what the future would hold for her son. She tried to imagine what he would be like when he got older—a tall, athletically built blond, like her husband, perhaps; or a calm, level headed, insightful leader, like her brother-in-law, Max. There were so many possibilities for this new life, and Kim Jones beamed with pride as she thought about it.

Caught up in her reverie, Kim didn't realize that she had yet to choose a name for her son. As she gently rocked the baby, she thought about the myriad of possible names, trying to imagine the perfect one for her child, one that was traditional, yet not overly common, one whose sound brought to mind images of greatness past and future potential. A smile crossed her face as she came upon the perfect name for her child, a name that, through the years, had been linked to strength and dignified leadership, the very same qualities that she hoped her son would one day possess. She looked lovingly at the boy nestled in the folds of the receiving blanket as she spoke his name. "Frederick. Frederick Allan Jones." The child gave a soft coo, as if acknowledging his new name.

Frank Jones favored his wife with a warm smile. "You two should get some rest," he suggested, "once everyone gets here, it will be rather difficult." The attendant nurse seconded Frank's assessment. Kim was hesitant to part with her newborn son, but the nurse explained that the two would be reunited once visiting hours commenced. Somewhat reluctantly, Kim allowed the nurse to take the boy. A twinge of sadness ran through her body, but she soon found that she was too exhausted to dwell on it. "Frederick," she sighed, dreamily, before settling back into the bed and succumbing to her exhaustion.

* * *

  


Several hours later, Kim Jones sat surrounded by her family and friends, all of whom had arrived to offer their congratulations and to welcome the new baby. Among them was the former Marilyn Walton, Kim's best friend from high school, who had just completed her doctorate in Marine Biology. Kim had been the maid of honor at the wedding three months earlier when Marilyn had married her research partner, Harold Dinkley. Marilyn adjusted her glasses as she leaned over to look at the newborn baby. "Oh, Kimmy," she cooed, softly, "he is absolutely adorable." She put her finger under the infant's chin, then glanced lovingly at her husband. "Don't you think so, Harold?"

The brown haired, bespectacled man nodded in response.

"She's so lucky to have a child," said Marilyn, dreamily, stepping back and putting an arm around her husband's shoulder, "it's truly a blessing." She flashed her husband a gentle, maternal grin.

Harold Dinkley nodded; he knew exactly what his wife was implying with that look. He smiled back, then added, "Perhaps someday, but not just yet."

A tall, thin woman with shoulder-length, sandy-brown hair made her way to the bedside and placed a large vase of flowers on the bedside nightstand. "Whew, I didn't think "I was going to make it this far with this thing!" she breathed. "You're certainly going to have your hands full, now, Kimmy. I ought to know; I have a three month head start on you with my boy back at home!"

Kim smiled at the other woman. "Thank you, Marjorie. And how's your little boy doing?"

"Norville? He's fine, he's home with Sammy right now. You know, for a baby, that boy has the biggest appetite I've ever seen. I swear, I feed him at least twice every hour, and he's still hungry."

Kim grinned. She had seen little Norville just after he was born, and she had stood at Marjorie's bedside just as Marjorie now did for her. "It's so nice that our children will be able to grow up together," she commented.

Marjorie Rogers nodded. "Well, they're a little young now, but some time in the near future, we can introduce them to each other."

"I'm certain they'll get along, and that they'll become close friends." Kim gave her infant son a gentle kiss on the forehead. "You have so much to look forward to, little Frederick."

"Hey Frankie!" The shrill cry interrupted Kim's reverie; she quickly recognized it as belonging to her brother-in-law, Edward.

Frank rolled his eyes, but with a smile. "Hello, Eddie."

Edward Jones sidled up to the bed and looked at the baby, who had fallen asleep in his mother's arms. "You know, I see a potential investigative reporter in that little guy," he observed.

"For _your_newspaper? I should hope that Freddie would be above reading that piece of trash," said Kim, a jocular tone coloring her voice.

"Hey, it's news!" Edward quipped, defending his newspaper. "And besides, it's important that the public know about these things."

Kim shook her head and smiled. Eddie was eccentric, but harmless.

The younger Jones leaned over and whispered to his older brother, "Hey, you better keep an eye on that little guy. I hear the Baby Snatchers from the galaxy Strigiphilia have landed in the area and may be roaming the halls of this hospital. They like to disguise themselves as maternity room workers, you know."

Frank rolled his eyes. "Yeah, so I've heard. Thanks for the warning."

"Hey, it's cool. Besides, I'm only looking out for the well being of my favorite little nephew."

"For the moment, he's your _only_nephew."

Edward grinned, sheepishly. "Oh yeah. I forgot."

"Leave it to little Eddie to mention alien baby snatching plots in a place like this." A tall, blond man in military dress whites stood in the doorway.

"Hi, Max," said Kim, "I'm so glad that you could stop by, even if it's only for a few minutes."

Max, the eldest of the Jones boys, was a lieutenant colonel in the Marine Corps, and because of his frequent trips overseas, was rarely able to see his family. For this particular occasion, though, he had managed to take one day of personal leave; it's not everyday, he reasoned, that your younger brother becomes a father. "So, what is his name?" Max asked, curiously.

"Frederick," Kim answered. "Frederick Allan Jones."

Max leaned over to get a look at his newborn nephew. "He has the potential to become a great leader," Max surmised, "and perhaps someday, he will." He flashed the child a quick grin. "You have it in you, Frederick," he whispered, "and one day, you will realize that potential." Max glanced furtively at his watch. "I do hate to be rude," he apologized, "but I do have to be returning to the base." He gave Kim, Frank and Fred a last congratulatory grin, then turned to walk out to his car. On his way out, he narrowly missed colliding with someone who was trying to enter through the exit door. Turning to apologize, he saw the face of someone he hadn't seen in years, and certainly had not been expecting to see. Pulling himself up to his full six-foot plus height and assuming a demeanor he usually reserved for the Corps, Max gave the other man a stern look of reproach. "Geoff," he growled, not expecting to see his younger brother, "what brings you here?"

The younger Jones greeted his older sibling with a smirk. "What?" he quipped, sarcastically, "doesn't a man have a right to see his older brother and newborn nephew?"

"You are not exactly what we would call a 'participatory member' of the family," Max remarked, calmly, "so we were not expecting to see you. Furthermore, you are a little bit late--visiting hours are over for today."

Geoff Jones shook his head. "You military folk run your lives by the clock. You're so strict, lighten up a bit, buddy!" He slapped his older brother playfully on the shoulder; Max was not amused by the gesture.

"It's not a matter of 'lightening up,' as you call it, it is a matter of respecting and following the rules." Max brushed the dust off the shoulder of his jacket. The younger man's brotherly gesture had left a huge spot of dust on the older man's neatly pressed dress jacket. "Although," Max continued, "following and respecting rules was never your strong point. Besides, you know how Frank feels about you, how do you think he and Kim would react if you were to just walk into the room unannounced?"

"I don't know how Frank would react, but I know I would be happy to see Kimmy."

Max shook his head. "She's married, Geoff—married to our brother, and now she has a child to care for. If I were you, I would give up this infatuation. It won't lead to anything good."

"I was in love with her," the younger Jones brother growled, his voice growing louder, "he stole her from me!"

Max managed to contain his growing impatience towards his younger brother, but just barely. "Geoff, don't be foolish," he chided. "You were thirteen years old at the time; Kim was eighteen. Not only would it not have worked out, but it would have ended very badly for both of you."

The younger man's eyebrows arched downward in a decidedly sinister manner. "It's not over yet, believe me. And it may still end badly...for everyone involved." He shot his brother a final, dirty sneer before stomping back through the door.

Max shook his head, partly in disgust, partly in despair. "He'll never learn," he mumbled to himself. "And one day, that attitude of his is going to get him into trouble."

* * *

  


Geoff Jones' downward spiral began as a four-year-old, when he lost his status as the baby of the family to his brother, Edward. With the newest member of the Jones family now garnering the attention that had once been lavished upon him, Geoff had resorted to unruly behavior in order to get the attention of his parents and his older siblings. The plan, though, had not worked quite as he had envisioned it; in fact, instead of making him the center of attention, it had quite the opposite effect, causing his parents and siblings to ignore him. The more they ignored him though, the more Geoff's tantrums escalated and the more the family regarded him as a nuisance. The frequency of his outbursts led his parents to question his behavior. "Why can't you be more like your brothers?" was a comment Geoff Jones heard all too often when he was growing up. And the more times he heard it, the more he grew to resent his brothers, Max and Frank.

As the boys grew older, each developed his own, unique personality. Max, the eldest, was methodical and organized and was clearly emerging as the leader of the four. Frank was intelligent and athletic, and a rising star in both Little League Baseball and junior football teams. Edward, the youngest, had a paper route and was showing a nascent interest in journalism, but he also had a strange fascination with space aliens, haunted houses and the emerging "Bigfoot" legend, interests for which he was frequently teased by his siblings. And while his parents didn't exactly approve of these unusual interests, they knew that they were nothing more than benign, childhood fantasies that would soon pass. Geoff, however, lived in the shadow of his siblings, constantly expected to be as smart as Frank, or as creative as Edward. By the time he was thirteen, he had already been in trouble for stealing a bottle of soda from the corner drugstore. The older he got, the more frequent and severe his digressions became, causing a rift to develop between him and his family. But the one thing that had driven a permanent wedge between him and his older brother, Frank, was a pretty, young girl named Kimberly Maclean.

Geoff Jones first laid eyes on Kimberly when he was still in junior high school. At age thirteen, in the throes of early adolescence, he immediately found himself infatuated with her. The infatuation had started with a simple request from Kim. "Geoff, would you ask your brother to come down here?" The young boy was so smitten with the pretty teenager that he forgot to even call for his brother; he just stood and stared at the girl on the other side of the front door's threshold.

"Uh, Geoff, could you ask your brother to come down here?"

A series of stuttered "uh"s was all that Geoff could muster. By the time he gathered the courage to tell his brother about the visitor, Frank had already come down the stairs. Ignoring his younger brother, Frank stepped into the doorway. "Kim! What a surprise! What brings you here?"

"I was wondering if you wanted to join me and the rest of the gang at Spencer's for a soda."

Geoff craned his neck to glance at Kimberly; he silently cursed his older brother for blocking his view.

"Sure!" Frank turned towards his parents who were settled in the living room area. "I'll be back in a few hours, okay, Mom?"

"Uh, do you guys mind if I join you, too?" Geoff asked, finally managing to squeeze into view. His voice cracked on the last word and he cringed with embarrassment. Why did that have to happen now?

"Geoff, go away," Frank chided, pushing his younger brother aside. "Go play with your army guys or go bother Mom."

The younger Jones cringed. Army men? Mom? Why did his brother have to humiliate him now, in front of the most beautiful girl he had ever seen? "Please?"

"I said no. Now go way." Frank waved his hand to the side, his gesture punctuating his comment.

Geoff Jones tried to contain his anger, but to no avail. "Fine! See if I care! I hate you anyway!"

Frank accompanied Kimberly out the door, closing it behind him as he left the house; he could still hear his younger brother screaming and cursing.

Six months later, at Frank's high school graduation, Geoff once again ran into Kimberly. She acknowledged him, politely, and her words sent a tremor of lovesickness through the young boy's body. "Uh, Kim, if you're not doing anything..." He was cut off by his older brother, Frank, who had emerged from the crowd and now flanked Kim's side.

"Geoff, give it up, already," Frank chided; he was clearly less than amused by his younger brother's antics. "She's five years older than you."

"So? Mom's five years younger than Dad."

"It's not quite the same, and besides, she's already taken."

The words cut through the boy's heart like a hot knife through butter, but he knew he had to hide his disappointment. "Uh, by whom?" he asked, meekly.

Frank stood proudly beside the younger girl. "Me."

The younger boy's decorum fell immediately. "I hate you!!" he screamed, "I hate you so damn much!!"

Geoff's father immediately restrained his son. "Not here and not now," he scolded, striking the boy across his backside. "Can't you even act like a human?"

The shock from the blow momentarily calmed the boy, but it was too late; the damage had been done. "You'll never forget this day!" Geoff screamed, though in a much more subdued tone than his earlier outburst, "I swear, if it's the last thing I do, I'll make you wish you never met her!"

As a punishment for his behavior, Geoff Jones was sent to bed without dinner that night.

The years passed and the Jones boys had grown up and established themselves. Max had graduated from West Point and was now a lieutenant colonel in the Marine Corps. Edward had studied journalism in college, but had never really gotten over his childhood fascination with aliens and other strange phenomenon. Appropriately, he now worked as an assistant to the publisher of the _National Exaggerator_, a less than reputable newspaper that covered such newsworthy events as alien sightings, alien invasion plots and half-human, half-animal beings living in caves in the mountains of Pennsylvania. Frank had entered the world of finance, content to be a salaried worker, but the black sheep of the Jones family had never found his niche in the world. By the time he was 21, Geoff had already had several run-ins with the law, including a barroom fight over a girl that ended with a DUI conviction that same night. None of the Jones boys had seen or heard from their sibling; and when Frank and Kimberly had gotten married, it did not surprise Frank one bit that Geoff was not among the attendees at the wedding. And given Geoff's track record, it did not surprise Frank one bit that his brother was not in attendance at Fred's birth

* * *

  


Frank Jones looked adoringly at his wife and newborn son, blissfully unaware of the heated exchange that had just taken place in the hospital lobby. He was a father, now, and it was his responsibility to protect his new family. Little Fred gave a contented gurgle before falling asleep in his mother's arms.


	2. Part 2: The Carefree, Playful Days

PART 2: The Carefree, Playful Days

Marilyn Dinkley sat in the Jones' living room, enjoying a cup of afternoon coffee with her former high school classmate. She had brought along her two-year old daughter, Velma, the presence of whom Kimberly didn't mind, as the little girl was remarkably well mannered and quiet for her age. Kimberly didn't often get to spend time with her friend, as Harold and Marilyn were frequently out on field excursions, but the times that they did spend together were always full of happy reminiscing, although now, the discussions tended to center more around child rearing than nostalgic memories.

A happy screech interrupted the idyllic scene as four-year-old Fred Jones ran into the room. The little blond boy shrieked gleefully as he darted around the corner, possessively clutching a small, red, toy car in his hand, his playmate, four-year-old Norville Rogers following close behind on his heels. Marjorie was attending a meeting that afternoon, and Sammy was busy at the precinct, so Kim had agreed to watch little Norville for the day. And although both boys were only four years old, they were already exhibiting signs of distinct personalities, ones that were as different as night and day.

Little Fred possessed a demeanor that belied his young age, a trait that did not go unnoticed to Kim. Fittingly, she took great pride in her little boy's appearance, keeping his corn-silk blond hair neatly combed and dressing him in a very traditional sweater and slacks outfit. Frank often teased her about how she dressed the boy, telling her that if she put a tie on Fred, he would look like a miniature businessman. One day, as a joke, she had taken her husband's advice, and put an ascot around little Fred's neck. And while most children his age would have thrown a tantrum at having to wear such a thing, Fred didn't seem to mind, and would actually put up a fuss every time he was _not_ allowed to wear it. Although still a toddler, Fred was beginning to exhibit an almost marked swagger, walking with his head held squarely, an air of confident superiority about him.

Norville, on the other hand, was a much more laid back child. Nothing seemed to bother him, except that he was very easily frightened and would scream in terror if anyone approached him from behind. He had a thick mop of sandy-brown hair that always seemed to tangle, and a forelock that nearly covered his eyes. "That child looks less like a boy and more like a shaggy sheepdog," his uncle had once remarked, and it wasn't long before the rest of the Rogers clan had adopted the nickname "Shaggy" for the boy. Only Marjorie and Sammy still called him by his given name, Norville, but the boy was beginning to exhibit a preference for his nickname over his real one, although he was still too young to understand that the name had been given to him in jest.

Little Fred tore around the couch, laughing happily, his occasional shrieks telling his playmate 'I got the toy! Try to get it away from me!'

"Okay, that's enough, you two," Kim gently chided, reaching down and taking the toy car away from her son, "calm down."

The little blond boy stopped abruptly and looked wistfully up at his mother. "Have it back?" he asked, stretching his hand as far as his small body would let him in an attempt to retrieve the toy, but Kim Jones held her hand out in an authoritative 'stop' gesture that her son immediately understood. Fred looked at his playmate and shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

Little Velma observed the goings-on in front of her with wide-eyed interest. From her vantage point on her mother's arm, she reached her hand out and leaned towards Kim who was still holding the toy car just out of her son's reach. The little girl reached for the toy, but grabbed just short of it, her hands coming up empty. Curious, and more than slightly puzzled, she tried again, but to the same result. The frustration was beginning to show on her tiny features, but she still persisted, not quite understanding why the object she was reaching for was never in the same place that she saw it. Decidedly defeated, little Velma gave a scream of frustration that immediately brought her mother to attention. Marilyn had often wondered if her daughter would need to wear glasses—both she and Harold were severely near-sighted—and this incident seemed to confirm what she had long suspected. Marilyn calmed her daughter down, then took the car from Kim and placed in the little girl's hands. Velma immediately began looking at it with an almost scientific curiosity, turning it over, putting it in her mouth and examining it from every possible angle. Once satisfied with her analysis, she gave a contented sigh and fell asleep on her mother's arm, still clutching the little toy car.

Marilyn sighed. "You know, I should be heading home, Kimmie," she sighed, gesturing to the little girl asleep in her arms, "I think Velma's had enough excitement for one day."

Kim smiled at her friend, putting her finger gently under little Velma's chin; the girl didn't even flinch. "We have to get together like this again, soon, perhaps when our kids are old enough to socialize with each other."

Marilyn flashed a closed mouth grin. "Well, I hope it won't be _that_ long before we talk again, but I do like the idea of introducing our children to each other."

Kim escorted Marilyn to the door and helped her out. With her free hand, Marilyn waved goodbye and added, "We'll be in touch."

As she closed the door, Kim's eyes fell upon the two boys who were now sitting on floor playing quietly with a set of wooden blocks, the little toy car forgotten. She paused for a moment and imagined Harold and Marilyn's daughter playing with the two boys. Pleased with the image, she smiled to herself, though she knew it would be several years before that image could become a reality.

* * *

Fred Jones tore anxiously down the hallway from his room to his parents' bedroom, bursting through the closed door and yelling excitedly, "Mom, Dad, get up! I don't want to be late!"

Frank Jones rolled drowsily over in bed as his half closed eyes fell upon the numbers of the analog radio clock—6:00 a.m.

"Come on, get up! Hurry! Get up!"

Frank and his wife ignored the persistent wake-up calls from their five-year-old son.

"It's my first day of kindergarten, I don't want to be late!"

Kim opened her eyes briefly, surprised to find that the boy was already dressed, although in his haste, he had put his sweater on backwards and had mismatched more than just a few button holes on the collared shirt that he wore underneath his sweater.

"Get up!" he screeched, louder than ever before.

Frank rolled over again, drawing a pillow over his head to drown out the unwanted noise, albeit unsuccessfully. "Oh, Kim," he groaned, groggily, "why'd you have to get him so excited about starting school?"

Kim shared her husband's desire to return to sleep, but at the same time, understood her son's enthusiasm about the impending adventure. "Frank, just get up," she whispered quietly, so as not to let Fred hear her lack of enthusiasm, "it isn't every day that your only son starts kindergarten—it's a big day for him, let's make it special, okay?" She planted a gentle kiss on Frank's cheek, as though trying to soften the blow of waking up so much earlier than normal.

Reluctantly, Frank sat up and stretched, putting his hand on the mattress to support himself as he got up from the bed. "Oh, alright, I'm up."

"Yeah!" Fred announced, jumping up enthusiastically and turning to leave his parents' bedroom.

Kim smiled at the boy as she slipped her feet into her fuzzy, pink, bedroom slippers and got up off the bed. Putting on her bathrobe, she reached out and put a calming hand on the boy's shoulder. "Woah, hold it there, young man, we still have time—enough time for me to get you dressed properly."

Fred looked down at his appearance and grinned, sheepishly. "Oh. Oops."

Frank yawned, regaining the supine position in the bed. "And enough time for me to go back to sleep and to wake up at a civilized hour." No sooner had he spoken when the sound of soft snores began emanating from the bed.

Kim lovingly re-buttoned the boy's shirt, carefully showing him exactly how to match the buttons to the proper holes. She turned his sweater around and smoothed it out, gently pulling the collar of his shirt outside the neckline of his sweater. "Oh, and of course, I can't forget this." She tied the ascot around his neck and adjusted it so that the ends hung evenly from the knot. "There, now you're all set." She turned the boy around. "Take a look at yourself in the mirror."

Fred stood for a moment, admiring his reflection; he looked so small and so young. Attempting to look more grown up, he posed, folding his hands across his chest, then moments later, standing with one hand at his side, and the other tucked in his pants pocket. Kimberly watched in amusement, unable to believe just how quickly her son was growing up. He was beginning to look a lot like his father, although his mannerisms and attitude were more like those of his uncle, Max. "Alright, Fred, now let's get you downstairs and get you some breakfast so that you have enough energy for the big day."

In a flash, the little blond boy tore down the staircase, followed steadily behind by his mother. Behind them, Frank Jones slept, completely oblivious to the doings of his wife and young son.

Fred stared at the waffles on his plate, regarding them more as play-things than as food; normally, he loved waffles with blueberry syrup on them, but this morning, he was far too excited to eat. He poked at them with his fork a few times, then blurted, "Come on, Mom, I don't want to be late!"

"Freddie, if you don't eat a decent breakfast, you will never last through the school day. Now come on, eat—at least three bites."

The boy put his fork to the plate and cut a small corner off one of the waffles. Mechanically, he brought the fork to his mouth, but in his excitement, found the food to be unpalatable. He put down his fork and sat defiantly at the table, his arms folded across his chest.

Kim sighed in defeat. "Well, at least drink your milk, honey. You will need it to keep your strength up."

Fred dutifully picked up the glass and swallowed it with a huge gulp. Any other day, Kim would have scolded the boy for his manners, but this time, she just smiled in response. Fred wiped his hand across his mouth then pushed back from the table. "Can we go now?" he asked, jumping to his feet.

Kim looked at the clock; it was only 6:45. "Well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to be there a little early," she began, "but let's at least wait for your father."

About fourty-five minutes later, Frank, Kim and Fred arrived at the main building of Coolsville Elementary School, where dozens of other parents and children had gathered in anticipation of the first day of school. Anxious to see if there was anyone in the crowd whom he already knew, Fred milled around the crowd of children, but was never far from the watchful eye of his mother. A familiar looking face caught his eye. "Shaggy!"

The brown haired boy, dressed in a T-shirt and pants, looked around to see who had called his name. "Freddie!" The two boys greeted each other, each somewhat relieved to see a familiar looking face in the crowd.

Kim turned around to look at the other boy's parents. "Can you believe the boys are already in kindergarten?" she asked, a slight tinge of sadness detectable in her voice. Kim surreptitiously wiped a tear from her eye as she spoke. Fred was her pride and joy, and while on the surface she expressed delight at his starting school, inside, her feeling was one of sadness.

Marjorie Rogers shook her head. "No way! You know, just the other day I was saying to myself, 'Man, that boy is growing up so fast, the next thing I know, I'll turn around and he'll be moving out!'"

Kim couldn't believe that Marjorie would say a thing like that about her own son, although the jocular tone in her voice indicated that she was obviously joking. "I know. I feel like it was just yesterday that I was feeding Fred from a bottle, and now, look at him, all grown up and starting kindergarten."

"Well, it is true that the passage of time seems to speed up when one is raising children, however, it must not be overlooked that among many species in the animal kingdom, the human is the one whose offspring is dependent upon the mother for the longest time."

Kim spun around and was surprised to find herself face-to-face with Harold Dinkley. _Leave it to Harold to offer a biological explanation for child rearing_, she thought to herself with a smile. "What are you doing here?" she asked, curious.

"The same thing you are," replied Marilyn, matter-of-factly, "dropping our child off at school."

Kim experienced a momentary delay in processing the information. Harold and Marilyn's daughter? Starting school? Wasn't she two years younger than Fred? That would make her only three years old, hardly the appropriate age to start school. Kim cast her glance downward and noticed the little girl standing alongside her mother. Little Velma was dressed in a very traditional manner, with a pleated skirt, shirt, V-neck sweater and mary jane shoes. She looked so tiny among the adults—even next to the other children--but the happy anticipation at starting school was clearly visible on the little girl's face, and not even her thick eyeglasses could conceal that happiness. "Don't you think she's a little young?" Kim asked, although she knew that the Dinkleys both held doctorates and both came from solid academic backgrounds.

Marilyn smiled. "Well, I admit that she is a little young, but Harold and I believe that it is never too early to start your child on a solid, academic path, and so we opted to enroll her in preschool at age three."

Harold nodded in agreement with his wife's statement.

Marilyn looked around at the children who would become her daughter's classmates; most were screaming and clinging to their parents, begging them not to leave. Little Velma, however, marched dutifully through the building's door, a broad smile on her face. _And these children are **older** than Velma,_ Marilyn thought with a proud smile. After speaking briefly with the teacher, Marilyn gave her daughter a gentle pat on the back. "You go have a good time, now, okay sweetheart? We'll be waiting for you when you get out."

Little Velma smiled again and waved, before disappearing into the building, her curiosity and enthusiasm for starting school evidently outweighing the separation anxiety that plagued so many of her older classmates.

The 8:30 morning bell rang, signaling that the time had come for the children to set foot on their new life's path. Kim looked around as other teary-eyed parents waved to their children; she understood their pain, for she was just as hesitant to let her little boy go. Fred turned around and waved bravely to his parents before walking into the building with his head held high in confidence. A new part of his life had just begun.

"I was driving over through Easy Street on the way home from work," Frank Jones mentioned casually one day over dinner, "seems the people over there have got a new neighbor."

* * *

"Easy Street, huh? From what I've heard, all the houses in that area sit on one acre lots, have guest houses in their back yards and cost upwards of one million," commented Kim.

Little Fred understood nothing about the conversation, but at the mention of the words 'new neighbor,' immediately quipped, "Do they have any children?"

Frank favored the boy with a broad grin. "Don't know if they do, son," he began, "and even if they did, I don't think you'd be seeing much of that kid. Those Easy Street people tend to keep to themselves."

"Oh Frank," Kim chided, "don't be so discouraging. It's only natural for Fred to want to know if he'll have any other children to play with." She turned towards her son. "I don't know if they have any children, but when you go with Shaggy and Mrs. Dinkley to the park tomorrow, maybe you can ask her if she'll let you walk by."

"Kim, I don't know if that is such a good idea, after all, those Easy Street folks don't take too kindly to those of us from the other neighborhoods."

"Frank, you can't let your son live his life totally insulated from the rest of the world. It will do him some good to see how the other people in the neighborhood live."

Frank grunted a response.

"And besides, if the boys are with Marilyn, what can go wrong? It's not like they can cause any trouble."

Frank shrugged. "I suppose."

The street's actual name was Park Front Boulevard, but since almost everyone who lived there had live-in servants, drove pricey, luxury cars and held elaborate charity benefit dinners every month, residents of the neighboring quarters had nicknamed the Boulevard 'Easy Street.' If you lived on Easy Street, you were either the president of your company, a doctor in private practice or a lawyer with an excellent track record. Fred and Shaggy walked sprightly in front of Marilyn, admiring, or rather, gawking at the enormous mansions that lined the street. "Woah, I bet they have a swimming pool in their living room and their own private movie theater in that house!" commented Fred.

"Yeah," echoed Shaggy. "They must have, like, a million rooms in that place!"

The two boys pressed their faces through the bars of the wrought-iron fence surrounding the palacial grounds. "See anything, Freddie?" Shaggy asked.

"Not yet, all I can see are the moving guys...wait a minute, I think I see something."

Fred squinted and caught sight of a small, red-headed figure amid the towering adults. He couldn't see much more, but assumed that the figure was a girl, as it was wearing what looked to be a dress. "I think they have a kid, but I can't tell exactly." The blond boy pressed his face closer through the fence to get a closer look.

"Shoo. Go on. Go play somewhere else." A tall, stern faced man with a thick British accent waved his hands, emphasizing to the boys that they were not welcome on the premises. "Go on. Go home."

Fred and Shaggy obliged, turning away from the fence to face their chaperone. Marilyn Dinkley smiled as she shook her head. "It's one thing to want to meet a new neighbor," she gently corrected, "it is another thing entirely to spy on them."

Fred and Shaggy looked at one another, guiltily. "We just wanted to see if they had any children," Fred answered.

"I understand your curiosity, boys," she began, "I myself am somewhat eager for my daughter to have a playmate her own age. From what I have heard, they _do_ have a child..."

Fred and Shaggy's eyes brightened at the mention of the word 'child.'

"...they have a little girl who is five years old."

"Oh," they two boys answered in unison, their enthusiasm falling by the wayside at the discovery that the new child in the neighborhood was a girl.

"Well, I guess I've seen enough," said Fred, slightly disappointed, "let's go home."

* * *

"Elizabeth, are you certain that it is a good idea to send our daughter to a _public_ school? Don't you think she would be better off attending a private school with her peers from the neighborhood?"

Elizabeth Blake gave a hearty laugh. "Oh don't be ridiculous, George. Daphne will be just fine. And besides, I do think it would be a good experience for her to see how the, er, 'rest of the world' lives."

George Blake shrugged. "Huh. If you say so."

Elizabeth faced her five-year-old daughter, Daphne. The little girl wore a sour face, sharply in contrast to her bright pink outfit. "Come on, dear. Get in the car. It's your first day at a new school—lets go."

Daphne begrudingly climbed into the limousine, somewhat displeased at the prospect of having to start kindergarten in the middle of the school year.

"Oh, do cheer up Daphne," her mother scolded, "you'll never make any friends if you look like that."

The little girl sighed. _I may never make any friends at all._

* * *

"Boys and girls, we have a new student in our class. It's her first day here so let's make her feel welcome." The teacher looked at Daphne. "Now, can you tell the boys and girls your name?"

"Daphne," the redhead replied, monotonously. "Daphne Blake."

A giggle arose from a boy in the back of the room. "Daffy—like the duck!" Several other children laughed at the comment and began making quacking noises.

"You're dithpickable!!!" one of the other boys chimed. Daphne lowered her head to avert their gaze. Without saying another word, she took a seat in the furthest corner of the room and sat in sullen silence.

"Don't worry about them. They are just immature and looking for attention."

Daphne turned around to see who had spoken those words. They were pretty big words for a kindergartner, and the little redhead was surprised to find that they came from someone even smaller and younger looking than herself. "What did you say?"

"I said don't mind them. They're always mean like that. They called me even worse things." The little girl extended her hand in a friendly gesture. "I'm Velma, Velma Dinkley. I'm four years old, but I will be five in May." Without even taking a breath, she continued, "What's your name?"

"Daphne. Daphne Blake." Without even thinking, she blurted, "You must be very smart, to be in kindergarten when you are only four."

Velma blushed. "Aww, jinkies, thanks."

Both girls rushed out of the building the instant the afternoon bell rang. "Mommy!" they both called in unison, each running to her respective mother. Daphne grabbed her mother around the waist and squeezed tightly.

"Well, I am certainly glad to see you in a better mood young lady," said Elizabeth. "Did you have a good time in school?"

"Yes!" Daphne replied.

Only several feet away, Marilyn Dinkley's daughter carried on with the same ritual. Without even thinking about it, the little girl blurted, "Mother, can Daphne come over and play on Saturday?"

Marilyn and Elizabeth looked at one another awkwardly; they didn't even knew each other, and yet their children seemed to have forged a very strong bond already. "I must apologize, madame," Marilyn began, "it seems that our children have met through school, but you and I have yet to be formally introduced. I am Marilyn Dinkley, and this is my daughter, Velma." Marilyn extended her hand to the other woman.

"Elizabeth. Elizabeth Blake."

Marilyn immediately put two-and-two together in her head. "Oh, it is your family who moved into that house on Easy, er, Park Front Boulevard."

"Yes."

"Well, welcome to the neighborhood. I do apologize for being so abrupt, and perhaps we can get to know each other at a mutually convenient time and under less rushed circumstances."

"Well, that certainly would be ideal. Would you like to come over for tea perhaps this weekend?"

"Why thank you, that is very kind of you to invite me." Marilyn glanced at her daughter. "Velma, remember, I have to watch Frederick and Norville on Saturday as well."

"I know, but I am getting a little tired of playing with the boys every weekend."

The girl's answer was so frank and candid that Marilyn and Elizabeth exchanged somewhat startled glances. "Well," Elizabeth began, "I don't see why not..."

"I don't see any reason why not either," seconded Marilyn, "and besides, I think it would be beneficial for Velma to play with a girl for awhile."

"Well, we will see you tomorrow. I do hope we are not intruding on you, since you said you have to watch two other children tomorrow."

"Oh, it's not a problem; both boys are very well behaved, as you will see when you come over."

"Well, I trust your judgement, Mrs. Dinkley..."

"Please, call me Marilyn."

"...Marilyn, and so, I suppose I will see you tomorrow when I drop her off."

Marilyn gave Elizabeth the address, then turned to look at the girl. "We're looking forward to seeing you tomorrow," she commented.

Daphne grinned. "Me too."

* * *

Shaggy and Fred sat in the family room of the Dinkley residence, playing with a set of toy trains. "Can you boys come out here?" Marilyn called, "there is someone I would like you to meet."

Fred and Shaggy chose to ignore the summons and continued playing.

"Daphne!" Velma called, rushing into the entry way as quickly as possible without running.

The little redhead grinned at her friend. "Hi, Velma."

Recognizing that the boys had not heard her call, Marilyn escorted Daphne and Velma into the playroom. "Frederick, Shaggy, this is Daphne. She is the girl who lives in that huge house across town."

Little Fred stared at the girl. Although he was only six years old, there was something about this newcomer that just fascinated him, and he couldn't stop staring at her. His stare did not go unnoticed to the redhead though, who promptly squelched it with scornful glare.

"Frederick, Shaggy, what do you say?" Marilyn prompted.

"Hi, Daphne," they both replied, mechanically.

Marilyn smiled her approval. "Now I want you to make her feel welcome, okay? She's Velma's friend, too, so she's going to be here quite frequently."

Velma looked at Daphne enthusiastically. "Come on, Daphne. Let's go upstairs to my room." The little redheaded girl followed obligingly, more than happy to escape the six-year-old, blond boy with the staring problem. How could she know that in the years to come, she would be gazing at him with the same fervor? She couldn't, and never suspected that she would.

A/N: Well, I got a little carried away on this chapter, perhaps to make up for the long time of not updating. Successive chapters will probably not be this long, but I make no guarantees. Oh, and if anyone knows Velma's exact street address (yes, there is such a thing) please let me know so that I can fill it in.


	3. Part 3: A Very Scary Lesson

PART 3: A Very Scary Lesson

[A/N: For those of you who found the last part confusing as to the time line, I apologize. FF.net stripped all the section dividers when I uploaded so everything looked like it was happening at once rather than over the course of several years. The problem is fixed now, and thank you to all the reviewers who pointed that out to me, either in e-mail or in a review.]

A lone figure sat in the dimly lit barroom while on the radio, in the background, some guy with a twangy voice wailed about losing his wife and his pick-up truck in the same day. Geoff Jones picked up the glass of beer sitting in front of him, chugged it and replaced the glass on the bar top. "Gimme one more," he hiccuped.

The bartender knew it was against his better judgement to serve another round to this man, who was obviously teetering on the verge of intoxication, but dutifully pulled back the spout on the draft tap, filling the man's fourth glass of beer and placing it on the counter in front of him.

"Ever think about your own family?" he babbled, to no one in particular. "I have family, but they all hate me. It doesn't matter, though, because I hate them too, you know what I mean?" He stopped only long enough to sip his beer, then continued, "I hate my fruity younger brother and that bossy ass military guy who claims to be my older brother. He thinks he can boss everyone around at home just like they do in the service, but it ain't that way, you know? But you know who I hate the most? I hate my asshole older brother and his bratty kid. He stole my girlfriend, you hear me? He **_stole_** my girlfriend!!" Geoff slammed his beer glass on the bar top, spilling beer all over the counter; the bartender dutifully wiped it up, but kept a close eye on his sole patron who was on the verge of a violent outburst. "He stole my girlfriend!!" Geoff ranted, "and do you know what I do to people who steal from me? They pay, let me tell you, they PAY HELL!!"

* * *

With each season change and each sunrise and sunset, the children grew as well, each developing unique personalities and traits. Daphne was the most precocious of the four, at age six, already developing an interest in clothes and make-up. The Blake family was very well-off, and if little Daphne wanted something, a new toy or a new dress, she usually got it. And although she wasn't snobbish about her status, she was aware of it, and that awareness did not go unnoticed to the others.

Shaggy was nearly Daphne's polar opposite. He had little interest in looking good, and, as a typical seven-year-old boy, found it more fun to get dirty than to stay clean. He was a boy close to nature, coming home at the end of the day with his pockets filled with frogs, snails and other "pets." "Awww, Mom, can't I keep it?" he would ask whenever Marjorie would discover the unwanted guest lodged in her son's pocket. He never really outgrew his nervousness, though, still jumping or screaming whenever someone approached him from behind, and Marjorie and Sam always had to warn their guests never to startle little Shaggy, even as a joke.

Velma, as her parents had figured, was fast becoming a miniature scholar. Although very shy and quiet, she was highly intelligent, and as a first-grader, was already working two years beyond her grade level. Despite being the youngest of the four children, she was remarkably independent for her age, preferring to be accompanied to the park by Daphne, Shaggy and Fred, rather than by her parents. And although she rarely spoke, when she did, her command of words demonstrated exactly how intelligent and sophisticated she was. Like Daphne, she was aware of her status, but preferred not to flaunt it. The other children, however, were aware of her intelligence, but preferred not to say anything. To them, she was not a scholar or a scientist; she was just Velma Dinkley, playmate, classmate and friend.

Fred was emerging as the leader of the little group of children. Like most boys his age, he played little league baseball and peewee football, but his athletic build often made him appear much older than his seven years. Like Shaggy, he enjoyed "hunting" for animals, but was more inclined to set them free at the end of the day than to bring them home. One thing about Fred's personality bothered Kim, though, and that was his strange obsession with aliens, monsters and ghosts. Little Fred always carried the latest edition of the "National Exaggerator" with him wherever he went, not surprising, since his uncle was the editor, but the way in which Fred _believed_ what he read was disquieting to Kim.

One afternoon, Shaggy rushed over to the Jones' house, banging on the door excitedly. "Come on over, Freddie. I want to show you my new dog!"

Excited, Fred followed Shaggy across the street and back to the Rogers' house where Velma and Daphne were already waiting, sitting on the floor and playing with a small, tan Great Dane puppy. Both girls were rolling on the floor, laughing, as the little puppy strove to lick them.

"Like, isn't he great?" Shaggy asked, "we already named him—Scooby-Doo. Isn't that a cool name?"

Daphne and Velma looked up from playing with the puppy for a few moments. "Uh, what made you choose that name, Shaggy?" Daphne asked, curious.

"Like Pops was listening to a song on the radio and I heard that word and thought it would be a cool name for my dog."

Daphne rolled her eyes. _Leave it to Shaggy to name a dog after a jazz singer's refrain_,she thought.

"But isn't he great?" continued Shaggy, "I'm so glad Pops let me have a dog. Now we can take him out for walks, play with him, spend the afternoon with him...."

"Don't forget feeding him and training him," Samuel Rogers interjected. "Remember what we said, Norville. This dog is going to be _your_ responsibility. If you don't take care of him, we can always send him to your cousin Dusty."

"Like, I know, but I'll take care of him, I promise."

Shaggy turned to the other children. "Come on, gang. Let's take him outside in the yard to play."

Marjorie and Samuel smiled at each other. Already, they could sense the bond developing between the little puppy and the group of children, a bond that they both knew would last for a lifetime.

* * *

Frank Jones stood dressed in an apron and chef's hat, duly tending the barbecue as Kim readied the table with the plastic plates and cutlery for the family's annual Memorial Day picnic.

"Alright, now, let's get a picture of the super cook," announced Edward, as he snapped a random picture of Frank at the grill. "One more for the scrapbook." This time, Frank posed by the barbecue, holding up the spatula in front of his face, emphasizing that he was the man in charge of the meal.

"I hope this year's photo session doesn't turn into a fire hazard like last year's did," commented Max, "after all, wasn't it a photo opportunity like this one that led to the, ahem, accident?"

Frank and Edward shot their elder brother puzzled 'who, me?' looks, even though they knew fully well what he was talking about. The previous year, Edward had been taking candid family pictures, and Frank could not resist posing by the barbecue in a variety of positions. In fact, he had become so involved in the impromptu photo session that he didn't notice the hamburger patties flaring up on the grill. And by the time he did, the flames were climbing well above the cover of the grill and Max had to douse the fire with a garden hose before it could spread to the nearby trees. By the time the flames had been extinguished, the burgers were little more than shriveled masses of burnt meat. More than slightly embarrassed, Frank ended up taking the family to Mister Fong's Chinese Restaurant for their "picnic." "Nah, don't worry Max," said Frank, "I've got it under control. I'll keep the excitement to a minimum this year."

Fred groaned. He was the only child at the gathering and he wished that he could have had someone his own age to play with, but each of the other children was doing something with their respective families that day, so little Fred was alone. Bored, he leaned against a tree and slid to a recline position. He picked up a blade of grass and began to blow on it, but soon grew tired of the less than amusing past time. He sighed; things were always more fun when there was someone else to share them with, and right now, there was no one.

"Aww, what's the matter, Freddie? You bored?"

Fred looked up to see to whom the voice belonged and was surprised to see his uncle Geoff standing over him. Fred rarely saw his uncle and was somewhat taken aback that the older man suddenly decided to speak to him. "Yeah," Fred replied, "there's nothing to do here. I kind of wish that Shaggy, Vel or Daphne could be here, at least I would have someone to play with."

Geoff was intrigued by the boy's mention of his friends. "So, you and your friends do everything together, huh?"

"Yeah," Fred replied, pleased that he had found someone to talk to, "and guess what? I'm seven years old now, so Mom lets me go to the park by myself with them! Isn't that great?"

Geoff considered the boy's comment, and feigned enthusiasm. If his plan was to work, he had to make it appear that he was genuinely interested in the boy's life. The older man was warming to the chase. "Wow, that sounds like fun. Say, when you go to the park, do you ever walk past the old Ferguson house?"

The Ferguson estate was an abandoned mansion and had recently been condemned by the City Council. "Uh, yeah, but there's nothing really to look at there; it's just a pile of rotten wood."

Geoff feigned a smile, but it looked more like a smirk. "Oh no, but there is a lot more than that in that old house, Freddie. You see, when old man Ferguson died, they say he left a treasure somewhere in that old house."

Fred's blue eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. "A hidden treasure? Wow!"

Geoff nodded. "Uh huh. Almost a half a million dollars in gold, money, jewels..."

The more Geoff spoke, the wider his nephew's eyes became. "Wow, just like a real pirate treasure!"

"Uh huh. And you know what they say? They say that his ghost still haunts that old house, guarding his treasure against would-be thieves."

Fred could barely contain himself. "Woah, what a cool story!"

The conversation was interrupted by an angry male voice. "Geoff, what are you doing?" stormed Frank.

Fred was ready to defend his uncle, but before he could, Geoff answered, "Oh, Frankie, I'm just spending time with my favorite nephew. Since when is that a crime?"

Frank frowned. "Favorite? He's your only nephew. What do you want, anyway?"

Geoff faked an expression of hurt. "Want? Do you think that I came here just because I want something? Don't I have the right to spend time with my own family?"

"You never spend time with us, and your track record of attendance at family events suggests that you only show up when you want something from the rest of us."

"Oh, wounded to the heart by my own brother." Geoff's acting was nearly as bad as his comeback lines.

"I'm warning you, Geoff," Frank continued, "stay away from my son and my wife, or I will have a restraining order issued against you. I haven't been too thrilled with your recent antics—you're hardly a role model for Fred here. Now get your lunch and go, that's not a request." Frank punctuated his order with a stern finger point.

Fred looked wistfully up at the older man. "Uncle Geoff, are you really going to go already?"

"I'm afraid so, Freddie. But before I go, promise me one thing—now that you know about the treasure, you must never tell any one else, and you must never go in to that old house. Can you promise me that?"

Fred didn't know if he would be able to keep such a promise, after all, it _was_ a treasure and it was valuable. Imagine what the other kids would think if he told them this story! If only he could think of a way to go into the house without his uncle finding out that he had...of course he could! Fred smiled at his uncle. "I promise," he said, assertively.

"Good. Now, run along and get some food, and remember, this is our little secret."

Geoff took his leave furtively. No one in the Jones family remarked his departure.

* * *

Geoff Jones swallowed the last of his Jack Daniels shot, placed the shotglass on the bar and faced the man seated at the neighboring barstool. "Come on, Conners, I'll pay you to do this. All you have to do is get into the Ferguson estate and pretend to be the ghost of old man Ferguson."

The older man took a sip of his beer and frowned. Although a seasoned petty criminal, he regarded Geoff Jones' scheme as more than slightly cruel. "Do you really think this is necessary, Jones? They're only children."

The corners of Geoff's lips turned up in a sinister grin, punctuated by a devious cackle. The action seemed to confirm what Conners already knew about his drinking partner—that the motive for this act went far beyond just frightening a child and into something much more sinister. He shook his head. "No, Jones. It's out of the question."

A slightly intoxicated Geoff grabbed the older man by his lapels and lifted him off the barstool. "Are you going to do this, or not?" he growled. "Because if you're not, I can find someone else very easily. Fifteen hundred dollars, and that's my final offer. Take it, or leave it."

"Okay, okay, I'll do it," he breathed, acquiesing more for his own sake than for Geoff's.

Geoff released his grip and returned the man to the barstool. "Good. Now, here's what I want you to do."

* * *

For the rest of the week, Fred Jones burned to tell the other children about the Ferguson treasure. It was just too big a thing to keep secret, but how could he tell the others without breaking his promise to his uncle? Could he tell the others what he knew without actually telling _how_ he knew it? Sure he could. He had only promised his uncle Geoff to not tell about the treasure, he had never actually promised that he wouldn't go there. _Perfect,_ thought Fred, _now to find a way to get the others to go with me._

That afternoon, Kim and Marilyn were having brunch together when Fred approached the, both. "Mom, can Vel, Daph, Shag and I go to the park this afternoon?" He paused, then added, "pretty please?"

Marilyn and Kim looked at one another, amused. "Well, I don't see why not," Kim began, "but you will have to ask Mrs. Dinkley if Velma can go with you guys; remember, she may be only a year behind you in school, but she is still two years younger than you and she gets tired easily."

Velma looked up from the book she was reading. "I won't get tired," she offered, "I know how long I can last."

Marilyn considered her daughter's comment. "Well..."

Velma joined Fred in a plea to their respective mothers. "Please?"

Kim and Marilyn smiled. The children could be so amusing at times even without realizing it. "Well, I don't see why not. It's okay with us..."

"Yeah!"

"But you will have to ask Mrs. Rogers and Mrs. Blake if it is okay with them. We cannot make decisions for them."

"It's okay! We'll go ask!" said Fred, as he and Velma began walking towards the door, "Bye Mom, bye Mrs. Dinkley!"

The two mothers looked at their children. "Have a good time," they called, "and be careful!"

Neither George nor Elizabeth Blake was at home, but Daphne managed to get permission from one of the servants. She eagerly joined the other two children as they headed to the Rogers' house to invite the last of their group.

Fred rang the doorbell of the Rogers residence. "Hi, can Shaggy come to the park with us?"

Shaggy rushed down the stairs to the door. "Like, can I, Mom?"

Marjorie Rogers carefully pondered the request, as Fred and Velma's mothers had done. "Sure you can go, but take Scooby with you. He needs a walk."

The boy's face fell. "Aw, Mom, like do I have to take him with me? Like he pulls us!"

Marjorie shook her head. "He's your dog, Norville, you asked for him. And if you don't take care of him, we can easily send him to live at your cousin's ranch in Arizona."

Shaggy took the threat seriously. "Like, no way, Mom! Where's his leash?"

"That's better. Besides, you guys are still a little young to be walking by yourselves. I'd feel a lot better if you had Scooby along for protection."

"Right, Mom. So, like, bye, we'll see you later, alligator!"

Marjorie waved to her son.

"Like, I still think they are too young to be walking to the park by themselves," said Sam Rogers.

"Oh, come on, Sammy. They walk to school by themselves, and they're old enough. Besides, they're safe in a group. What could possibly go wrong?"

* * *

The four children walked briskly, each one taking turns walking the Great Dane puppy; they could see the high, wrought- iron gates marking the entrance to the park. They had only recently been allowed to start walking to the park by themselves, and only if they followed the path that had been laid out for them by their parents. The little group had adopted a very particular way of walking: Fred walked at the front, with Daphne flanking his side. Velma would walk just behind Daphne and Shaggy would bring up the rear. The dog would walk alongside whomever was holding his leash; at this particular time, it was Fred.

Suddenly, Fred turned his back to the wrought iron fence and began retracing his steps in the opposite direction.

"Freddie, what are you doing?" asked Daphne. "The park is this way!"

Fred paid no attention to the redhead's admonition. Today's adventure would be bigger than just going to the park.

"Freddie," Daphne persisted, this time with more insistence. She looked at Velma, puzzled. "What is he doing?"

The little bespectacled girl shrugged, but turned to follow Fred. She knew that they would have to stick together.

Equally puzzled, Shaggy followed the younger girl. He knew he had no choice but to follow Fred, as Fred was the one walking Scooby.

"Freddie," Daphne called, "come back here!" With a disgusted grunt, she turned around and followed the others. "Wait for me!"

By the time the others had caught up to him, Fred was already standing in front of the gate to the Ferguson house. A large portion of the gate had rusted away and yellow and black striped tape reading "Caution, do not enter" was woven all around the remaining side of the entrance. A huge sign reading "Condemned" stood in front of the property.

Fred gaped at the property. "Woah, the Ferguson Estate. The most haunted, haunted house in town!"

Daphne frowned. "Freddie, what _are_ we doing here? We're not supposed to be here!"

"I know. But isn't this great?"

Shaggy swallowed a lump the size of his fist. "L...like, speak for yourself, man. This place gives me the mega creeps."

"Ree roo!" The Great Dane echoed.

"Like, I vote we just turn around and go back to the park where it safe. Who else is with me?"

Daphne raised her hand, but not before Velma alerted her to Fred's disappearance. The boy had ducked under the yellow tape and was walking towards the front door of the abandoned mansion.

"Freddie, come back here!"

Daphne, Velma and Shaggy looked at each other and shrugged. They knew they had no choice now but to follow Fred. Taking the lead, Velma ducked underneath the tape and walked ahead, Shaggy, Scooby and Daphne following close behind.

* * *

Inside the house, Jonathan Conners fiddled with the ungainly bedsheet he wore over his head. _There are no eyeholes in this damn thing_, he cursed, _how the hell does Jones expect me to see what I'm doing?_ He squinted, the little bits of light that entered the house just barely allowed him to see through the sheet. He thought carefully about his lines. What was it that Geoff had told him to say? Oh yeah, something like 'Don't steal my treasure.' It was corny and stupid, but then again, so was the idea of dressing up as a ghost and "haunting" the house. _Gimme a break_, Conners thought to himself, _no one, not even a kid, is stupid enough to buy this scam!_ Still, the price was right.

Jonathan could hear the sound of young children's voices coming from the outside the house. He adjusted the sheet once more, then sat, waiting for his prey. _Fifteen hundred bucks to play a Halloween prank on some kid in the beginning of June,_ he reminded himself. _Easy Money._

* * *

The door creaked on its rusty hinges as Fred effortlessly pushed it open. He looked briefly at the others, encouraging them to follow him inside. Daphne and Velma exchanged dubious glances; both girls felt that entering the house was against their better judgement, but they knew also that they couldn't leave Fred alone. Velma shrugged, and took a few steps forward. The little redhead, though, was not nearly as adventurous as her younger cohort and hesitated for a moment before entering. She cringed, uttering an audible "Eew!" as she saw all the dust and cobwebs that lined the interior of the abandoned mansion.

Now only Shaggy and the puppy remained outside the door; neither one would even set foot over the threshold.

"Come on you guys" Fred prodded, "let's go."

Shaggy shook his head. "Like no way, Jose," he uttered, emphatically. "Scooby and me aren't setting foot inside that creep zone—no way, no how! We are going to stay right here where it is safe."

"Right r'here," the dog echoed.

"Aww, come on you guys, there's nothing to be afraid of in there."

Daphne frowned at the comment. "Yeah there is—all the dust, cobwebs and icky worm-eaten wood. Eew!"

Shaggy firmly stood his ground.

"So you guys are just going to stand out there and wait for us? That's no fun!" objected Fred.

Shaggy closed his eyes and folded his arms across his chest. "Like there is nothing you can say or do that will get us to go in there."

The other three children shrugged, poised to enter the house on their own. At the last possible minute, Daphne dropped a small, bone-shaped object on the floor behind her, followed by another one a few feet later.

Intrigued, the Great Dane puppy put its nose to the ground and began to follow the trail, stopping every few feet to pick up the treat left by the redhead. Shaggy watched his dog, and knew that he had no choice but to follow him, even if it meant walking straight into the house. Daphne turned around and scratched the dog behind his ears. "I knew I could get you to change your mind if I just gave you some food."

Shaggy shot the dog a dirty look. "You traitor!" he muttered, under his breath.

"Rorry."

The children stood in the massive entry hall of the Ferguson mansion, a huge, cobweb covered chandelier loomed overhead. It had been years since anyone had lived in the house, and all the furniture in every corner was covered with dust covers. "Like, this place looks like a laundry room for ghosts!" commented Shaggy. "Like, anyone of those sheets could have a ghost hiding under it!"

"Oh Shaggy, don't be silly," the redhead chided. "There are no such things as ghosts, and all that is under there is a chair."

The reassurance did nothing for the skinny, terrified boy.

"Okay, gang," Fred announced, "let me tell you the _real_ reason we are here."

The others listened, wide eyed, as Fred recounted what his uncle Geoff had told him about the Ferguson treasure.

"Wow, you mean, like, there really is a hidden treasure here?" asked Shaggy.

Fred nodded. "Uh huh. And wouldn't it be cool if we could find it? Just think of it! We'd be famous! They'd probably let us even skip school!" Fred drifted off into a reverie, imagining himself and the other children being honored with a citywide parade, all for finding the treasure. "Yeah. All the other kids in school would look up to us, and they'd all want to play with us. Wouldn't it be great?"

"Stay away from my treasure!" a voice boomed from behind.

The announcement shook the boy from his daydream. "Who said that?" he asked, completely oblivious to the white cloaked figure standing less than three feet away from him.

"Do you hear me? Stay away from my treasure."

By now, the other three children had backed away in fear, but Fred was still blissfully unaware that he was in danger.

"Stay away of you will pay!!!"

"Fred-die!!" the three others chorused in unison.

The clueless boy glanced at his friends, unsure of why their faces were white with fear. "Huh?" he asked.

Turning around slowly, he found himself face-to-face with the ghost of old man Ferguson.

The ghost stared the boy in the eye. "Boo."

Suddenly, it hit him, and Fred realized that he and the other children were in deep trouble. "Uh, guys," he stuttered, just barely able to get the words out of his mouth, "let's...get...out of here!" The last three words flew out of his mouth at the same time as his feet began to move. With a collective scream of terror, the four children ran away, their screams echoing throughout the cavernous halls of the house.

Fred ran. He ran as fast as his seven-year-old legs would carry him, but it was hardly a fair fight. Here was the ghost of a man, who, in life, had been close to six feet in height, and in death, was still nearly twice the size of little Fred and the other children. The ghost could cover twice the ground that the kids could in a single step, and that fact was not lost on any of the children.

"Stay away from my treasure!!"

"Quick," Fred ordered, "in here!" The four children ducked into one of the upstairs rooms and hid behind the doorframe, watching in silence as the ghost ran past them.

"We've got to think of something," Fred blurted, the panic detectable in his voice.

"Like _what_?" asked Daphne. She was regretting ever deciding to follow Fred into the house.

"I...I don't know." Fred's fearless facade was fading fast, and only the rush of adrenaline was keeping the boy from bursting into tears.

Before anyone could do anything, the little puppy lunged forward, jerking the leash out of his owner's hand. "Scooby!" Shaggy yelled, "come back here!"

The dog paid no heed to his master's command and headed straight for the front door of the house. Bursting through it, he took off down the street, running. Instinctively, he knew that he had to protect his owner, and this was the only way to do it.

The puppy's swift exit, though, had alerted the ghost to the children's hiding place. "Stay away from my treasure, you hear me!"

Guided only by their fear, the four children exited the bedroom and began running wildly down the upstairs hallway.

"Like, did we lose him?" Shaggy asked, the terror evident in his voice.

"I think so," Fred panted. He paused to catch his breath, and as he turned around, realized to his horror that they were one member short. A horrible shudder ran down the boy's spine. _Daphne!_

The little redhead had gotten her foot caught in one of the rotten floorboards and was struggling to free it. The more she struggled, though, the more the floorboards creaked and cracked, and she knew that it was only a matter of time before they would give out completely. Gingerly, Daphne shifted her body sideways, her movement exerting just enough force on the boards to free her leg. If she could just pull forward a few more inches, she would be completely free.

The rotten floorboards creaked under the girl's weight, their bending counteracting the advance she had made only seconds earlier. She felt herself slip a few inches deeper into the hole. "Freddie!!!" she screamed.

The sound of the redhead's terrified scream purged the last of the fear from Fred's seven-year-old body.

The "ghost" of Old Man Ferguson approached with increased rapidity. The closer he got to Daphne, the more the floorboards bent under the combined weight of his body and that of the little girl.

"Fred!!!!"

Quickly turning around, he ordered, "Run, gang! I'll go get Daphne!"

Without even a second though, the other two children nodded and ran straight for the door of the old house.

* * *

Yip, Yap! Yip, Yap! Woof Woof! Bark Bark!! The sound of the Great Dane pup's insistent barking was beginning to annoy the neighbors.

Marjorie flung open the front door, fully ready to scold the young pup for his non-stop barking, but for some reason, she didn't. There was something strange about the dog's insistent barking and his refusal to enter the house, even when offered a treat. "Sammy, come here," she called, gesturing to her husband, "I think Scooby is trying to tell us something. He is barking, but he won't come in the house!"

Woof! Woof! The Dane pup began jumping up and down and running around in circles on his hind legs.

"Like, what's up, Scooby?" Samuel Rogers asked, equally puzzled by the dog's behavior.

"Raggy. Raggy. Raggy."

Perhaps it was her maternal instincts, but Marjorie immediately recognized the dog's attempt to pronounce her son's name. "Sammy, I think the kids are in trouble."

"Reah. Reah." The Great Dane took several steps away from the front door. "Rollow re."

Marjorie didn't hesitate a second and immediately began following the dog. He was running as fast as he could, and Marjorie was trying her hardest to keep up with Scooby. Samuel Rogers blurted something into the CB radio before taking pursuit of his wife and the dog.

* * *

"Hang on Daphne! I'm coming!" Fred ran back towards where he had last seen the redhead, fully aware that his weight, plus Daphne's, plus that of the "ghost" might cause the floor to collapse from under all of them. The ghost stood about 2 yards away from Daphne, raising its arms in a less than frightening gesture. "Stay away from my treasure!" it growled, though its tone was anything but frightening.

Fred skidded to a stop about two feet away. He was afraid to go any closer, but he knew that if he was going to rescue Daphne, he would have to. Taking a deep breath, he leaned in closer to her. "Hang on, Daph," he ordered,

Grabbing her hands, he leaned back and pulled her with his full weight, hoping that it was enough to release her.

It was. The force of Fred's pulling jerked her from the floorboards just as they gave way. Fred tumbled backwards; Daphne landed right on top of the boy, pinning him to the floor. "Oof!" he breathed, as her knees dug into his chest.

Daphne turned her head around, surprised to see that where she had been trapped only seconds earlier was now a gaping hole in the middle of the floor. "Thanks, Freddie," she panted, "you saved my life."

"Don't mention it, Daph," Fred muttered, barely able to speak, since the force of the redhead's impact had knocked the wind right out of his lungs.

The pair scarcely had time to revel in their rescue. No sooner had they both regained their feet, when the ghost took a running jump in an attempt to cross the huge hole in the floor. The two children quickly regained their footing and ran, as fast as they could, to catch up with the others.

Outside the house, a circle of police cruisers waited, their red and blue lights flashing. Officer Samuel Rogers stood in front of one of the squad cars, giving instructions to his partner.

Just moments later, Fred, Velma, Daphne and Shaggy burst through the door, the "ghost" following right on their heels, still yelling to "Stay away from my treasure!"

Officer Rogers and his partner exchanged puzzled glances. "Nice sheet," Sam commented.

"Nice shoes," his partner added as he signaled the other officers to apprehend the "ghost."

The four children turned the corner and ran to the far side of the estate, the "ghost" still on their heels. Jonathan Conners, however, had not anticipated the glaring difference between the dimly lit house and the bright afternoon sunlight. Unable to see where he was going, he ran straight into police hands. The sound of his screaming and struggling brought the four children out of their hiding place to watch the spectacle in front of them.

As Jonathan Conners struggled to escape, Samuel Rogers and his partner approached. Rogers' partner ripped the sheet off, revealing the identity of the perpetrator. "Conners!" he announced. "So you're the one who violated the no trespassing order, eh?"

The man was silent.

"Couple that with dressing up as a ghost just to play tricks on the neighborhood children," added Sam. "You scared my son half to death!"

Jonathan Conners gave no reply.

"Book him," Officer Rogers ordered, "and have the report waiting when I get back to the station."

Sam's partner gave him a doubtful look. "Oh, the chief will love this report," he commented sarcastically. "A petty criminal who dresses up as a ghost to scare people away from a deserted house where there is rumored to be a fortune hidden, all that so that he can look for the treasure himself. That'll never stand up in a court of law."

The other officers laughed wholeheartedly.

* * *

"Wow, that was great!" Fred cried, beaming with pride over his heroic act of saving the young redhead.

"Sp...sp..speak for yourself, man," Shaggy stuttered, his knees still knocking from the frightening, near-death experience inside the condemned house. "Like, we could have gotten in big trouble back there, man. We could have been killed!"

Velma looked at the two boys. "I think we may be in more trouble now than we ever were back in that house," she said in a calm, level voice. She gently elbowed Daphne in the ribs, instructing the redhead to look straight ahead. What she saw silenced her immediately as well.

"Aw, come on, Velma," replied Fred, adapting a slightly arrogant tone, "Nothing went wrong. We got of there alive; we helped capture some crook; what could be better than that? He did a small victory dance in front of the other children, none of whom were paying any attention. Their attention was focused on something far more important, something that Fred, in his giddy state, was completely unaware of. They stood, silent, waiting for the revelation to hit Fred.

Seconds later, it did. "Frederick."

The sound of his full name and the deepness of the voice caught the young boy off guard. He stopped dead in his tracks, slowly lifting his head to see to whom the voice belonged, and immediately drew back at the discovery.

Frank Jones was looking straight at the little boy, a stern look of reproach on his normally kind face.

Fred's arrogant facade immediately disappeared under the stern gaze of his father. The use of his full name, combined with the look on his father's face, emphasized to the boy that he had done something wrong. The other three children took several large steps backwards, leaving Fred alone to face his father. They knew that they would be in just as much trouble from their own parents when they got home.

"Frederick," Frank said, again, this time with more insistence.

Fred's shoulders slumped and he sank down, realizing that he had done something wrong. "Dad," he began, in a small, boyish voice, "I can explain..."

Frank refused to let the boy explain himself. "You don't say a word, do I make myself clear? You are in deep trouble Frederick Jones, and I don't care how good an explanation you have, it is not going to be good enough."

Fred dropped his head in guilt; he didn't want the other children—especially Daphne—to see the tear that had just fallen from his eye.

Samuel Rogers faced his son. "And don't think you are off the hook either, Norville," he warned, "because you are going to get the same lecture when we get home."

The brown haired boy gave an audible gulp.

Officer Rogers faced the other children. "Come on. Like, let's go home."

Fred and Shaggy walked behind their fathers, while Velma and Daphne followed in silence. They were no longer the great treasure hunting, crime stopping team that they had been only hours earlier; now they were just four children in deep trouble with their parents.

"Great," Shaggy groaned, "like we'll probably be locked in our rooms without food or water forever and never allowed to see each other again."

"Don't be silly, Shaggy," the little redhead chided, "we'll probably just get grounded forever and not allowed to see each other ever again."

The little, bespectacled brunette said nothing.

No one, not even the adults, spoke on the walk back towards home. As the little group rounded the corner leading to the intersection, Frank Jones broke the silence. "Sam, take Daphne and Velma back home. Frederick and I need to have a little talk...alone."

The boy's shoulders slumped again and a knot developed in his stomach.

Officer Rogers was brief. "Daphne. Velma. Come. Let's take you both home."

The two girls turned to follow Officer Rogers. As the group parted ways at the intersection, Fred looked briefly at the redhead. "Thank you for saving me," she whispered in a barely audible voice. "I thought you were very brave."

* * *

Frank wasted no time in telling his wife what had happened, and Kim wasted no time in giving the boy a suitable punishment; he was sent to his room without dinner. And although the punishment was harsh, both Kim and Frank agreed that a harsher punishment would ensure that their son would never try such a stupid stunt again.

Fred sat on his bed, trying hard not to cry as he tried to make sense of his parents' punishment. Okay, he reasoned, perhaps going into a condemned house was a little stupid, but hadn't he saved Daphne from the floorboards and from getting captured by the ghost? Hadn't he gotten out of the house without anyone getting hurt? If no one was hurt, what was so bad about what he had done? Try as he could, he could not reconcile his conflicting thoughts and feelings; doing so was just beyond the capacity of his seven year old mind and he resolved it the only way that he could—he cried.

There was a knock on his bedroom door.

"Frederick."

He heard someone calling his name, but he didn't answer.

The doorknob turned and the door opened. Fred looked up to see who was entering the room and drew back at the sight of his father. That was the last person he had hoped to see.

"Frederick," Frank began. The anger in his voice from earlier in the day had faded, and his tone was now one of concern, but that was still no comfort to little Fred.

Fred looked up at his father and made a last attempt to justify his actions from earlier in the day. "Dad, I..."

"Frederick, I cannot tell you how disappointed I am in you."

The boy nodded, but said nothing.

"Your mother and I did not raise you like this. We raised you to listen to and obey the rules, which we thought you knew how to do."

Fred could feel the knot in his throat getting bigger. He was on the verge of crying again, but bravely suppressed his tears.

"We trusted you," Frank continued. "We trusted you to follow the rules, but apparently our trust was premature and badly misplaced. You chose to deliberately break those rules, and in doing so, you lost something that will be very difficult for you to recover—you lost our trust, and that of Mr. and Mrs. Dinkley, Mr. and Mrs. Blake and of course, Mr. and Mrs. Rogers."

Fred looked down, ashamed of his actions.

"You not only put yourself needlessly in danger, you endangered Shaggy, Daphne and Velma as well. We don't make rules to be mean, we do it for your safety. What were you trying to do? What were you thinking, Frederick?"

The little boy looked up, the tears flowing freely now. "I...I was only trying to be brave," he sniffled.

Frank Jones scarcely believed what he just heard. "Bravery?" he exclaimed, exasperated. "Bravery? Fred, is _that_ what this has been all about? Trying to prove how brave you are?"

"I...I wanted to show that I..."

Frank sat down on the bed and put an arm around his son's shoulder. "Being brave does not mean that you needlessly put yourself—or others—in danger. Freddie, sometimes, being brave means standing up for yourself when someone bullies you, or not crying when you fall on the pavement and hit your head. It does not have to involve risking what is nearly impossible."

Fred listened in silence.

"You will have plenty of opportunities in your lifetime to show bravery and valor," continued Frank, "but don't go looking for them; they will come to you, and when they do, you will know." Frank gave his son an affectionate pat on the shoulder. "Now how about you come downstairs, huh? I convinced your Mom to save a portion of dinner for you. You better eat it before it gets cold."

* * *

That evening at the precinct, Samuel Rogers mulled over Jonathan Conners' past rap sheet; it was full of burglaries, petty thefts and violations of traffic laws. "It seems strange that Conners would take to hiding out in condemned houses and scaring the neighborhood kids," he mused, "it doesn't fit his past pattern of behavior. It's almost as if..."

"As if what?" his partner asked.

Officer Rogers shook his head and dispelled the thought. "Never mind. Nutty notion. Just glad to have this guy back in our custody where we can keep an eye on him."

In the back of his mind, officer Samuel Rogers completed his sentence. _It's almost as if someone else had told him to do it._

A/N: While most people know that story that Scooby-Doo was named for a line in Frank Sinatra's 1963 hit "Strangers in the Night," the phrase "Scooby-Dooby-Doo" or "Scooby dooby dooby" was already a popular "scat" filler in the late 1940's, early 1950's. It was used by jazz singers for years before Sinatra popularized it in his song. Many jazz songs (and some doo-wop or rock songs) regularly used this line as a filler.


	4. Part 4: Tragedy and Loss

PART 4: Tragedy and Loss

Geoff sat at his usual place at the bar, swirling a shot glass half filled with Jack Daniels as he mulled over what had gone wrong in his plan. _I should have known better than to trust that idiot Conners_, he mused to himself. _It's not like I was asking him to do something that difficult. I practically handed him those kids on a platter and he couldn't even deal with them._ Geoff chugged the remaining half of his drink and placed the shot glass on the bar top. "One more," he uttered, his speech barely coherent.

The bartender placed the glass in front of Geoff, but Geoff did not immediately drink it; he was too busy formulating a new plan, and this time, there was no way it would fail because Geoff Jones was taking the matter into his own hands. Satisfied with his plan, he took a celebratory swig of the drink and heaved a drunken, yet contented sigh. "Ever heard of that old saying 'If you want something done, you gotta do it yourself'?" he mumbled, to no one in particular.

The bartender nodded, but not because he was paying any attention to the man's drunken ranting.

"Well, it's truer than ya think, you know?"

The bartender shook his head. "What's on your mind, Jones?" he asked.

An evil smile played across Geoff's features. "Let's just say I'm gonna clean out my family's dirty laundry. I hate to do it this way, and it hurts me to do it this way, but my brother has left me no other choice."

* * *

None of the children particularly minded losing their freedom after the incident at the Ferguson estate. And although they were no longer allowed to go outside unsupervised, they were still allowed to go to each others' houses to play, but always under the watchful eye of an adult. It seemed that Fred's bravery-proving stunt was never far from anyone's minds, and deep in his heart, Fred knew that it would be a long time before he regained the trust of his elders.

On that particular afternoon, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Out of school for the summer, Fred often spent his days playing with the other children at either Shaggy's or Velma's house. On one occasion, he and the other two children had been invited to play at Daphne's house, but the invitation was quickly revoked after Scooby got loose and dug up almost every acre of the Blake's meticulously maintained garden.

Marilyn Dinkley sat at the kitchen table, occasionally looking up from her research to glance at the play area and watch the four children. Shaggy and Fred had somehow (miraculously) managed to convince the girls to join them in their play, and soon the four children sat engrossed in their game, lost in their own world of make-believe. Marilyn smiled as she watched them playing, remarking almost nostalgically how, only a few short years earlier, they had been but small toddlers. And now, here they were, ages five, six and seven, still playing together and relishing each other's company.

The doorbell rang, and Marilyn dutifully stood up to answer it. "Kim! This is a surprise! Please, come inside."

The other woman obliged. "Thanks, Marilyn. I'm sorry to barge in on you like this," she apologized, "but both Frank and I think Fred needs to spend a little time with his own family today."

Fred cringed at hearing the words 'spend time with his own family;' that usually meant having to do chores around the house or to accompany his mother on her errands. He could imagine nothing more boring than wasting a perfectly good summer day doing only what _his_ mother wanted to do. "Aww, Mom," Fred protested. "Why? I hate shopping with you! It's so boooooring!" He drew out the last word to emphasize his disgust.

"Because you need to spend some time with us," Kim announced, "and I think we should give Mrs. Dinkley a little bit of a break. She has been watching you for the last four days, not to mention Shaggy and Daphne, plus her own daughter. I think she deserves a little break from you and your rambunctious ways." She smiled on the last comment, as though trying to soften the blow for her son.

"No," Fred whined, "I don't wanna go. It's not fun. I wanna stay here and play." The boy looked ready to throw a tantrum, but kept his cool in front of the other children.

"Oh, Kim," Marilyn countered, "I don't mind at all. And the children are all so well behaved that it is not a problem for me to watch them."

Kim hesitated. "Are you sure, Marilyn? I really would hate to impose on you. After all, Fred is my son, not yours, and it seems like he's practically moved in with you, he's always there."

"Nonsense, Kimmy. I told you I don't mind. You go run your errands in peace and when you are done, just come by and pick him up like you always do."

Kim considered the other woman's offer. It _would _make running errands much easier without having a seven year old boy in tow, she thought. "Well, alright Fred. But just today. Tomorrow, you should stay home with me and Dad, deal?"

"Deal!" Fred blurted.

"Don't make too much trouble for Mrs. Dinkley, okay?"

"'kay."

"I'll be by to pick you up this afternoon." She leaned over and gave Fred a quick kiss on his blond head. "Bye bye, sweetie."

"'Bye," Fred waved, a little too eager to see his mother out the door and to return to his game with the other children. In the years that would come, he would live to regret his rash behavior that day.

As Kim walked the short distance from the Dinkley residence to her own, the last thing on her mind was that someone would want to harm her and her family. Routinely climbing into her car, she paid no attention to the black, late model pickup truck parked about 100 yards down the street. The pickup truck's occupant kept a close watch on the woman, following and carefully noting her every move. As Kim turned the corner in the family station wagon, the pickup truck's engine coughed to life, belching a cloud of black smoke. Slowly, the driver began to follow her.

* * *

Kim walked nonchalantly across the parking lot of the supermarket, pausing for a moment to look behind her. _Is someone following me?_ she wondered, briefly. _Nah. It's just my imagination_. She shook her head and dispelled the thought as a figment of stress. Taking a shopping basket, she entered the store, completely unaware that the man in the black pickup truck was still watching her. Once she had disappeared inside the store's aisles, the truck's driver shifted into reverse and pulled out of the lot. He turned the corner and came to a stop at the end of a dark alleyway.

Less than an hour later, Kim emerged from the supermarket, pushing the shopping cart across the lot. Fumbling in her purse for the car keys, she unlocked the trunk and began loading the groceries. The strange feeling that someone was watching her and following her kept gnawing at her mind, but she ignored it. _Why would anyone be stalking in broad day light?_ she asked herself, _and in a public place like the parking lot of a shopping center? _She brushed the thought off and continued to load the last of the paper bags into the trunk.

From deep in the alley, hidden behind a trash dumpster, he took his aim, watching the bullet's trajectory to make sure it hit its target. It did. _One more for good measure._ He cocked the revolver, cushioning it with a towel and pillowcase to muffle its firing, then pulled the trigger again.

The bullet found its mark straight in the center of the woman's back. With a surprised "Uh," she fell forward, her knees and legs buckling underneath her, leaving her face down on the asphalt. A crimson pool of blood slowly formed on the pavement, flowing from the underside of her chest where the bullet had emerged. Satisfied at having struck his quarry, the hunter left, disappearing back into the shadows and retreated in silence.

* * *

"Oh my God! Somebody call the police! She's been shot!"

A stunned crowd had begun gathering around the spot where the woman had fallen.

"Murder? In this town? It can't be!"

"Is she still breathing?"

"No, she's gone."

"Things like this just don't happen in Coolsville; they happen in bigger cities, but not here."

The shrill screech of a police siren quickly dispersed the curious onlookers. As the police cruiser pulled up alongside, Officer Samuel Rogers stepped out and gasped in horror at what he saw.

Flashbulbs began popping as a hoard of local reporters from various newspapers arrived on the scene of the breaking story. From among the throng of reporters, Officer Rogers recognized Edward Jones, editor-in-chief of the National Exaggerator. Pushing his way through the crowd, Samuel Rogers took Edward aside to break the grim news to him.

"I...Is she alright?" the blond man asked, his normally jocular tone replaced by an oddly serious one.

Sammy Rogers shook his head. "I'm afraid not."

"She's dead?"

Rogers nodded.

"Well, do you have any idea who did this? Any suspects? Any clues? Any _anything_?"

"Right now, no, but we will let you and your family know the minute anything develops." He added as an aside, "I am bound by the department rules of confidentiality regarding homicide cases, but as a friend, I promise I will let you all know the minute I find anything out." He put his hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Keep your head up. I promise I won't let this one go unsolved."

Edward nodded in affirmation and returned to his job assignment. At the moment, though, reporting on the case was the furthest thing from his mind; what was on his mind was his nephew, Fred and how the boy would react to the grim news of his mother's death.

* * *

Samuel Rogers knocked on the door of the Dinkley residence. As she opened the door, Marilyn was surprised to see the man in his police uniform and surmised that, based on his current appearance, he had come for something more than just to pick up his son. "Samuel," she intoned, politely, "do come in."

"Thanks, Mare," he began, removing his cap as he spoke. "Mare, I need to tell you something, and I'm afraid it is not good."

The color drained from her face as Marilyn Dinkley gasped in shock at the man's revelation; she could not bring herself to speak, managing only to bring her hands up to her mouth. "Oh God," she breathed, though it was less of a curse and more of a prayer, "No, it can't be true. Tell me it's not true."

Officer Rogers shook his head, glancing downward at the floor to avoid the woman's shocked gaze. "I'm sorry, Marilyn. I know she was your friend."

Marilyn Dinkley gradually regained her composure. "Ha...have you told Frank yet?"

"No, and in retrospect, I should have told him before coming here to tell you, but that's not important. I came here mainly to retrieve Fred. I think that he and his father should be together when I break the news to them."

Marilyn nodded in assent. Taking a deep breath to hide her own sorrow, she walked into the playroom where Fred was playing with Daphne, Shaggy and Velma. Marilyn paused for a moment to listen to the sounds of happy laughter from the four children. She felt a knot develop in her stomach as she realized what she would have to do. They were so innocent, so happy. They were not supposed to know things as horrible as death at their young age. Mustering her courage, she walked into the playroom and announced, "Frederick, your father wants you home right now." She reached down and took the boy's hand.

"No, that's not fair!" he screamed in an uncharacteristic display of resistance, "I don't want to go home yet! We're not done!"

Marilyn Dinkley helped the boy to his feet and escorted him out of the room. Daphne, Shaggy and Velma momentarily stopped their game, not quite understanding why Fred was being so abruptly yanked away from them.

"No! It's not fair!! I wasn't done yet!" Fred continued to scream, but abruptly stopped when he saw Shaggy's father in full uniform standing in front of him.

Samuel Rogers reached down and took the boy's hand. "Come now, Freddie. Your father is waiting for you at home."

* * *

Fred Jones gingerly stuck his head around the corner as he listened to Shaggy's father break the horrible news. He could hear words and phrases such as "homicide victim", "murder" and "perpetrator," and although he didn't know exactly what they meant, something in his seven-year-old mind told him that these were not good words.

Samuel Rogers tipped his cap and added, "We'll be in touch," before turning and walking back to the squad car.

Frank Jones closed the door behind him and slid downward, using the door as support. Bringing his knees to his chest, he rested his elbows on them and buried his face in his hands.

Little Fred slowly emerged from his hiding place. "Daddy?" he began, his tiny voice sounding even younger when colored by the sad tone, "Daddy, what happened?"

Frank Jones looked at his son and motioned for the boy to come closer.

"What happened, Dad?" Fred persisted, although instinctively, he knew that something had gone terribly wrong. "Dad, when's Mom coming back?"

Frank swallowed a knot the size of his fist, and bit his lower lip to keep from crying in front of his son. "She...she isn't," Frank answered in a barely audible tone, hoping that the boy had not heard the reply.

He had. "What do you mean? Where is she?"

Frank Jones took a deep breath before beginning his next sentence. No one, he thought, should have to explain the concept of a parent's death to such a young child, and especially a death that had occurred under such violent circumstances. "She's in Heaven now," Frank began, "watching over you and me..." Frank knew in his heart that the response was contrived and insincere, but it was all he could muster. Although the Joneses were not a particularly religious family, there seemed to be no other way to explain such a sudden loss while comforting a child at the same time.

Little Fred looked up at his father, wistfully. "Where's that?" he asked, his voice full of innocence and wonder.

"It's...it's a very far away place, but a very special and beautiful one too. Some say that it is even more beautiful than it is here."

The boy remained wide eyed with wonder, and Frank was momentarily allayed by the fact that his contrived, pseudo-religious explanation had sufficed.

Then Fred asked, innocently, "Can we go see her?"

The elder Jones immediately regretted his hasty explanation, and he knew that he would now have to tell the boy the naked truth about death.

"No," he uttered, his voice quavering, "that's not possible. Fred, she's..." He choked on his next sentence, despite having chosen the words so carefully. "Your mother...will not be with us...any more."

The boy wrangled with how to make sense of what he had just heard, answering his father only with a bewildered look. "But you said that she's..."

"I know what I said, Freddie, but there is something that you have to understand." Frank thought carefully about how to explain the concept of death to his son, but could not arrive at a suitable manner to do so. Unable to think rationally, and overcome by his emotions, he blurted, "She's dead, and she won't be coming back." He turned his face away from his son and broke down in tears.

The little boy stood for a moment, doubly stunned by what he had just heard and by the sight of his father crying. What did it mean, dead? He had heard the word before, and knew what it meant, but up until now, he had conceptualized it only thought of it in terms of insects and plants, not humans.

"She's gone?" Fred asked, in a low, soft voice.

Frank nodded, still hiding his face from his son.

"But I thought you said..." Suddenly, the truth hit little Fred squarely. "You lied!" he screamed, stomping his foot down on the floor. "You lied to me! You said that she was someplace and now you're saying she's not!"

The accusation hurt Frank Jones almost as much as did the news of his wife's death. "Freddie, I..."

Little Fred continued to scream at his father, "You lied to me! It's all fake! It's all fake!" he yelled as he ran up the stairs to his room, screaming and crying at the same time.

Frank Jones put his head in his hands once again. _I'm sorry, Freddie, _he thought to himself_, forgive me._

_

* * *

_

_Requiem aeternam, dona eis Domine. Et lux perpetua luceat eis Domine. _Under gray, drizzly skies, family and friends gathered to pay their final respects to Kimberly Jones. Little Fred, dressed in a white shirt with black trousers and a black jacket, sat in the front row between his father and his uncle, Edward. Max sat quietly next to his youngest brother. Flanked by two adults, Fred looked even smaller and more vulnerable than ever before. He swung his feet back and forth under the chair and put on a strict face, trying to look brave in spite of feeling so sad, lost and confused. One member of the Jones family, though, was not in attendance, and nobody seemed to remark his absence.

"...Though I may walk through the valley of the shadows, I shall fear not death..."

The other three children watched the burial in silence, though every so often, their eyes gravitated towards their grieving companion. Fred stared at his mother's grave, though his eyes didn't focus on anything. Small tears formed in his eyes and he quickly brushed them away with the sleeve of his jacket. He had to look brave; perhaps this was one of the occasions that his father had told him about.

"...May you rest peacefully, forever keeping vigil over those you have left behind—your loving husband Frank, your son, Frederick..."

Each mourner filed past the grave site to pay their last respects. As her family took its turn, the little red-headed girl did something very unexpected—she looked straight at her companion, took his hands in her own and squeezed them tightly. "I'm sorry," she whispered, just barely loud enough for the boy to hear her. No one quite knew whether or not the two children understood the significance of their gesture, but one thing seemed clear—they both knew and recognized the feeling called "sadness."

As the last of the attendees filed past, Frank Jones took one final look at his wife's grave. His gaze shifted to his son, who sat nearby on the ground, mindlessly shredding a blade of grass. Staring at the sky, Frank Jones waved unconsciously, before taking the boy's hand and leading him back to the car.

Later that afternoon, friends and family held an informal gathering at the Jones residence. Little Fred, however, didn't wish to be a part of the gathering, but preferred to observe it from a distance. Still wearing the suit from earlier in the day, he sat down on the floor, mindlessly pushing a toy car back and forth on the rug to distract himself. Engrossed in his play, he failed to notice a dark shadow that had just fallen over him. "Frederick," a deep adult male voice intoned, "what are you doing out here by yourself?"

Fred looked up to see his uncle, Geoff standing over him. "Go away," he blurted.

"Oh, Freddie, is that any way to talk to your uncle? Your uncle whom you haven't seen in a long time? You should be more respectful of your elders, Frederick."

Fred ignored his uncle's chiding and continued to play with the toy car.

"You know, Freddie, respecting your elders is very important, especially listening to them when they ask you to do something."

Fred shrugged.

"You know, maybe if you had been a good boy and gone with your mother that day instead of staying behind to play with your friends, maybe this might not have happened."

Little Fred started to cry. "I didn't want it to," he sniffled.

Geoff shook his head in mock sympathy. "No one ever _wants_ things like this to happen, Freddie, but perhaps if you had listened to your mother, it might not have happened."

An immense burden of guilt began settling on the boy's shoulders. His mother was dead, and it was looking more and more like it was his fault. "What could I have done, Uncle Geoff?" he asked innocently enough.

"You should have listened to your mother," Geoff replied, coldly. "But since you didn't, there is nothing that can be done now."

Fred started bawling; his screams were loud enough to bring his father running to find him.

Frank Jones stopped dead in his tracks when he saw his younger brother in front of him. "Geoff?" he asked, both in shock and in anger, "what are you dong here?"

"Oh, come now, Frank, a man can't attend his own sister-in-law's funeral? She was family too, you know, and besides, you know how I felt about her."

Frank felt his blood begin to boil, but now was not the time to bring up old family grudges. "I know how you felt about her—you made no short effort to conceal your feelings for Kim, God rest her soul, but I still don't understand why you would choose this moment to come visit us—our moment of greatest pain."

Geoff laughed. "Family togetherness," he replied, "what ever happened to good old brotherly love?"

Geoff's sarcasm did not escape Frank's perception. "You didn't come here to pay your respects to Kim," he started, "you came here to harass me and Fred, and your doing so only confirms for me just how sadistic you really are." He pointed to the door and bellowed, "Get out, Geoff. You are not welcome here, now or ever! Now get out and just leave us alone before I file a restraining order against you!"

Geoff shook his head sarcastically. "Temper, temper, temper," he chided, before turning his back on his older brother.

Frank slammed the door in Geoff's face. "I don't ever want to see you again!" he bellowed, "Ever! Do you hear me? Ever! Ever!" Leaning against the door, he slid down and sat on the floor, taking his son into his arms. He drew Fred into a tight embrace, and Fred returned the gesture. "It's alright, Freddie," he whispered, wishing that he had to ability to console the boy as his wife had. "It's alright."

That night, Fred Jones lay on his bed, unable to sleep, his mind a jumble of unanswered questions. One thing though was perfectly clear to little seven year old Fred—this whole thing was his fault. Hadn't Uncle Geoff said it? _Maybe if you had been a good boy and gone with your mother instead of playing with your friends, maybe this might not have happened._ It was something _he—_Fred Jones--had done wrong. And this was his punishment. He cried himself to sleep that night, praying that maybe one day, things would be right again.


	5. Part 5: The Changing Times

PART 5: The Changing Times

Twelve-year-old Fred Jones sat up in bed, yawning and stretching as he greeted the beginning of yet another day. Five years had passed since his mother's death, but the incident was never far from the boy's mind. Over the past five years, Fred had learned to internalize his grief and to discount himself as the instigator of his mother's death, but his uncle's words were never far from his mind. _If you had been a good boy and gone with your mother...maybe this might not have happened. _The passing of the years had not done much to diminish the impact of Geoff Jones' words, but as Fred got older, he could not help but think that something was wrong about the whole situation. His presence alone, he reasoned, would probably not have prevented the murder, but maybe it could have. Could have...would have...should have...Fred could not shake those words from his mind. If only, he thought, there could be a way to change what happened in the past. If only there was a way to right the wrong that had been committed. But today, at least for awhile, he could escape from his self doubts. He and the other children had something exciting planned for the afternoon.

* * *

"You want to build a _what_?" an exasperated Daphne exclaimed. 

The blond boy dropped a pile of old boards, nails and a hammer on the ground at the base of a huge tree in the Rogers' back yard. "A treehouse," Fred answered, proudly. "I've already drawn up the plans and we have all the stuff needed." He opened up the "blueprint" he had drawn on several sheets of notebook paper scotch-taped together. The plan depicted an elaborate house with an elevator, swimming pool, secret hideout, lookout tower, study room and kitchen.

Daphne surveyed the drawing and frowned. "Oh puh-leeze, Freddie!" she chided, folding her arms across her chest and looking away from the boy, "Get real! You're expecting us to build the Taj Mahal in a tree! It will never work! Besides, you wouldn't catch me dead playing with tools." She stuck her tongue out for emphasis. "Eew, that's so gross!"

"Aww, come, on, Daph," Shaggy commented, "like chill out. I think it would be cool to have a treehouse. We could have a place where we could meet and hang out..."

The little redhead shook her head in disgust. "Whatever. Besides, what do you guys know about building anyway?"

"Aww, how hard can it be, Daph? All we have to do is pound a few boards together like what I drew in the picture and it will be great!"

Shaggy and Fred began hastily assembling the planks together—on the ground—in an attempt to build the treehouse. "There!" The blond boy announced, proudly, "it's finished!"

What they had produced looked less like a tree house and more like a lean-to shelter in a third world country; there were barely enough boards and the resultant house was scarcely large enough for even the Great Dane to fit inside.

"Terrific, Freddie," Daphne voiced, sarcastically, "but just how do you expect to get it up in the tree? It is a _tree_ house, isn't it?"

"Well, yeah," the blond boy replied, "I think."

No sooner had he stepped aside when the entire structure collapsed, leaving a pile of wood, sawdust and nails on the ground.

Shaggy scratched his head. "Like, maybe we ought to check those plans again, Freddie."

The tiny, bespectacled girl stepped in. "If I may make a suggestion," she began. She whipped out a protractor, T-ruler and a slide rule and began drawing on the opposite side of Fred's plans. "There," she announced, proudly, showing the finished drawing to Daphne and the two boys, "how does that look?"

It was far less elaborate than what Freddie had imagined, but it looked like a treehouse. Elaborate calculations and numbers lined the sides of perfectly drawn straight lines and angles.

"Wow!" Daphne announced, surprised. The little bespectacled girl's skills in mathematics and engineering never ceased to amaze her older friends. "That is groovy!"

"Thank you," Velma replied. "Now, what we need to do is to assemble our necessary supplies in advance and keep them in a central location. This will expedite our work and allow us to proceed at a greater rate of progression."

Fred looked at Velma, amazed. Whatever she had said, she certainly knew what she was talking about.

* * *

The four children gathered that afternoon in the Rogers' backyard. Under the watchful supervision of Harold Dinkley, they sawed, hammered and assembled what would eventually become their playhouse. Harold and Velma had rigged up an elaborate pulley system that enabled the children to complete their work in sections on the ground, then assemble it in the tree. Two weeks later, the four children and the dog stood staring up into the branches of the huge tree to admire their handiwork.

"I have to hand it to you Freddie," the redhead began, "I never thought that this would work out, but it did. Congratulations. You did something right, for once!" She gave him a congratulatory pat on the back, as though to emphasize her praise for him.

Little Fred beamed with pride. Daphne had praised him! And not only had she praised him, she had touched him too! He savored the sensation of the congratulatory pat; there was something about it that sent shivers up and down his twelve-year-old spine, but he could not figure out what it was. "Gee, thanks, Daph," he blurted, before ordering, "Come on gang! Let's get up in that tree house!"

Fred made sure he was the first one up the make-shift rope ladder and he stood proudly in the doorway watching the others climb up. Once the other children had reached the building, they promptly began decorating the inside, establishing their own areas in each of the four corners. Fred carefully arranged his collection of comic books, National Exaggerator magazines and model "mole men"; Shaggy, his food stash, comic books and "Commander Cool" action figures, Velma, her oversize computer, junior scientist chemistry set and telescope and Daphne, her fashion magazines and a few changes of clothing. As they finished, they stood in the center of the room admiring their handiwork. This was their place—their home—a place where they could come to momentarily escape their personal problems and just be children. It would be their place for the next ten years.

* * *

Throughout that summer and the ones that followed, the four children spent almost every waking hour together. Whether hanging out in the treehouse, playing together in the neighboring fields or spending the day swimming in the Blake's private pool, they were almost virtually inseparable. Sometimes, on late summer nights, they were permitted to hold sleep-over parties in the treehouse. The sleep-overs were special treats for all four of them, and they would spend hours, late into the night, telling jokes, ghost stories and laughing about what they had done during the day. 

But they were changing too, developing into young adults with their own, unique personalities. Much to Frank's relief, at age thirteen, Fred outgrew his obsession with aliens, bigfoot and the National Exaggerator, and shortly after turning fourteen, the boy hit his adolescent growth spurt. In the summer before his freshman year of high school, he had begun lifting weights and the effect on his previously tiny body was remarkable. Muscular and athletic, Fred now stood five feet seven inches tall and weighed over 140 pounds. He had grown his hair out a bit and now kept it neatly combed in a very traditional side part. The boy was fairly conservative in his dress as well, sporting a white V-neck sweater, blue slacks and the ascot that he had worn from the time he was a boy. With his stalwart personality, athletic build and handsome appearance, Fred Jones turned his share of girls' heads when walking through the school hallways, but his attention still focused on one girl in particular.

She was a year younger than he was, but very precocious for her age, yet there were still moments when she revealed that she was still little more than a girl caught between childhood and adolescence. That summer, during one of their pool parties, Daphne had opted to wear a two-piece bathing suit instead of her usual one-piece. Strutting back and forth around the pool deck, she posed with her hands on her hips, pretending to be a fashion model. Indeed with her manner of walking and posing, she appeared much older and sensuous than her thirteen years would let on, but moments later, she was a child again, playfully engaging her best friend Velma in a water fight.

Fred stared intently at Daphne, though not quite sure what it was about the redhead that fascinated him so. Could this be that strange sensation of being in love? Could it be that he was falling for her? Could it be that she was turning from his girl friend into his girlfriend? Nah! The thought made Fred sick to his stomach. _She's just a friend_, he kept telling himself, _a friend who happens to be a girl_. But somehow, he knew that it was a lie. For the rest of the summer, he continued to go to the Blakes' residence for pool parties, although the realized it was now more about seeing Daphne than playing 'Whirlpool' or 'King of the Mountain' on the diving board.

Even the youngest member of the tightly-knit group was experiencing changes of her own. Although only twelve years old, she had skipped a grade and would be entering high school in the fall, but not at the same school as her friends. Worried that she was being challenged enough academically, Harold and Marilyn had enrolled Velma in a private boarding school in another city. And although Velma relished academic challenges, she knew that transferring schools meant that she would separated from her closest friends for the first time in her life. "You'll still be able to come home on the weekends, Velma," Marilyn reassured her daughter, "and Fred, Daphne and Shaggy will still be here."

The little girl lowered her head. "Yes, but it just won't be the same."

"Oh, nonsense, Velma," Harold countered. "Besides, a solid education in your high school years will ensure that you get accepted to a good college." Velma nodded in response, but said nothing. Resigned to her fate of being 'shipped off' to another school, she cherished the summer days with her friends even more than she ever had.

Despite finding himself in the throngs of early adolescence, Shaggy remained ever upbeat. He too had hit a growth spurt, but unlike many boys his age, he seemed to grow taller rather than heavier. Like Fred, he stood five feet seven inches tall, but his lanky figure made him appear even taller. A few sprouts of facial hair were beginning to appear on his chin, making his nickname an even more avid one. He seemed to accept adolescence as a natural part of growing up and didn't think it merited any special behavioral or lifestyle changes, although, like Fred, he occasionally found himself looking at the two girls a little more fondly than he had in the past; in particular, he found the petite, bespectacled girl "rather groovy."

The changes in both boys' behavior did not go unnoticed to the adults either, and the following year, when Fred was fifteen, he and Shaggy heard the lecture that every teenage boy eventually gets about teenage girls. "I'm not going to do anything to them," Fred objected, "Daphne and Velma are just friends—we've known each other forever. There is nothing between me and Daphne and I would never dream of doing anything to hurt them."

Frank Jones looked earnestly at his son. "I know you wouldn't consciously do anything, Freddie, but sometimes, when love takes over, people can do really stupid things without realizing it. I just don't want you to do anything that would jeopardize your friendship with the girls, or our family's friendship with their families." Frank Jones shook his head. He wished his wife could have been there to talk to Fred about the matter—she probably would have been able to say it in a much better, softer fashion than he just did.

The four children were growing up, changing, and sadly, began to realize that their carefree days of summer sleepovers, wrestling in the grass and pool parties were quickly coming to an end. One thing they all knew would never change, though, was that special bond of friendship that they shared; if anything, it seemed to grow stronger throughout the years.

* * *

As summer faded to autumn and the leaves began to fall from the trees, Fred Jones entered his sophomore year in high school. That particular Saturday didn't start out any differently from any of the others—Fred had gone down to the high school for morning football practice and four hours later, was walking back home. As he passed the Rogers' house, he caught sight of a familiar looking figure lounging at the base of the tree that housed their clubhouse. Curious, he approached the yard and called out a name. "Daphne?" he blurted, softly, "Daphne Blake, is that you?" 

She had changed so much in only a year's time. She now stood five feet five inches tall with a shapely hourglass figure. Her face had lost much of its childhood chubbiness and had taken on a slenderer appearance, beautifully accented by her now shoulder length strawberry blonde hair that she kept neatly arranged in a lavender headband. The redhead's eyes grew wide as saucers, her jaw dropping almost below the end of the lime green scarf she wore around her neck. She could scarcely believe who was standing in front of her. "Freddie?" she gasped, incredulously.

The blond boy nodded.

An uneasy silence reigned between the two teens as they stared at one another. And although he had known Daphne since his childhood, Fred still found himself stunned by her appearance. Radiant, beautiful, a portrait of teenage beauty, could this really be the same spoiled little girl who used to worry about soiling her dress and who disparaged anyone and anything that did not agree with her tastes? It did not seem possible.

The redhead was equally taken aback by the handsome teenage boy. Romance was a relatively new concept for her—after all, she _was_ only fourteen—but she had always known that one day, she would lose her heart to a boy; she just never thought that that boy would be her childhood friend, Freddie Jones. Little Freddie, who had annoyed the redhead beyond belief with his constant talking about Mole Men, alien invasion plots and Bigfoot, now stood right in front of her, a handsome, athletically built fifteen year old boy.

They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity before Daphne broke the silence with a joyful squeal. Opening her arms wide, she threw herself at the blond boy and they greeted each other with a hug. As Fred drew the redhead close to him in the embrace, a strange, electrical sensation ran through his body. He had hugged her many times before, but this time, something felt different. Not just the feel of her soft breasts against his muscular chest, (although that sensation did not go unnoticed to Fred either) but something inside him felt different. He felt happy, joyful and fulfilled, something he had never before experienced with Daphne.

A wave of emotions rushed over the redhead too, and in that moment, she found herself feeling happier and more content than she had ever felt in the past. It was as though the blond boy had cast a spell over her, dissolving away her problems and issues. Gradually, she regained her senses and managed to recompose herself. She opened her mouth to speak, but Fred broke the ice first.

"Wow, Daphne," he breathed, his words just barely audible, "you...look...wonderful!"

The redhead giggled in reply and smiled at Fred. Her reaction was largely that of an innocent child experiencing her first crush, but inside of her, she knew it meant more than that.

"So," Fred continued, "I was wondering, if you...have some time...do you...want to go the Malt Shop and...uh...split a milkshake?" His stomach turned in anticipation of her response, as though a brood of hamsters had suddenly started running in an exercise wheel inside his body.

It felt like an eternity before she replied. "Uh...sure, Freddie," she blurted, equally nervous, "that's awfully nice of you."

The hamsters in his stomach disappeared, and the boy felt himself suddenly overcome by another sensation, a feeling like he was walking on air. Reaching down, he took the redhead's hand and helped her up from her sitting position at the base of the tree. She brushed the dead grass and leaves from her dress and smiled at Fred.

He gestured towards the gate. "Please," he said, putting his hand out in front of her.

Daphne graciously accepted, then quickly glanced back at the boy to see if he was coming. She giggled a bit, mildly amused by his hesitancy; hearing her giggles, the blond boy quickened his pace and rejoined her. "Freddie," she quipped, "you're at times."

He flashed her a puzzled look. "Meaning?"

She giggled in response. "You know what I mean."

Fred confessed to himself that he had no idea of how to interpret Daphne's comment, but decided that it was better not to let her see his ignorance.

They took their usual seats at the Malt Shop that afternoon, although it felt strangely foreign to be there without Velma, Shaggy and his dog. Perhaps, Daphne thought, it is better that they are not here. _Better for both of us._

Fred returned a few minutes later with a strawberry milkshake. "Uh, I asked for two straws," he blurted nervously.

Daphne only smiled in response.

As they sat in the booth that afternoon, looking at one another, they realized how much they had both changed, not just physically, but emotionally as well. For Daphne, her spunky cuteness had ripened into sleek beauty; for Fred, his childhood bravado had changed into calm, level headed leadership; and for both, their friendship was beginning to blossom into something much deeper.

* * *

"Hello, Jones residence...Fred?..Uh, yes, may I ask who's calling?..oh, Daphne! Yes, just a moment, I'll get him." 

Frank Jones hollered up the stairwell, still holding the phone in his hand. "Fred, it's for you! It's Daphne."

The sound of her name was enough to bring the blond boy tearing down the staircase in the same manner that he tore across the football field. "Thanks, Dad. I've got it," he said, grabbing the phone from his father's hands. "Daphne! What a surprise!"

The redhead on the other end of the line didn't miss a beat. "Hey, listen Fred. My parents are having a huge party tomorrow afternoon and I was wondering of you wanted to come by. Vel and Shag's families already accepted, and both of them are coming, so that just leaves you. So if you and your fam...I mean...er, Dad want to come by, that would be wonderful." She added in a more sincere tone, "I personally would love to see you come. It just won't be as much fun if you're not here."

Fred paused for a moment. "Gee, I don't know, I'd have to ask." Putting his hand over the receiver, he called to his father. "Dad, Daph wants to know if I can come to that party at her parents' place tomorrow."

Frank Jones smiled at his son. "I already accepted, Freddie, so now it's up to you."

Returning to the phone, he replied, "Uh, yeah. I'll be there."

"Good. We'd love to have you guys here by about 1:30."

"Great. I...I mean...we'll be there."

"Wonderful. Oh, and Fred," she paused before continuing her sentence. "I'm looking forward to this. 'Bye."

Fred stood with the phone in his hand long after the redhead had hung up. _I'm looking forward to it too,_ he thought to himself with a smile.

* * *

"Surprise!! Happy sixteenth birthday!" 

Fred stood, agog in the doorway to the Blakes' house. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't.

Frank looked at his son. "Well don't just stand there, Fred. Go in!"

Fred stared at the house, completely decorated for the occasion. "I...I...I don't believe this! All this? For me?"

"We'd been planning this for the last four months," Frank announced, proudly. "That was why Daphne called you last night—to invite you personally."

"I...I still don't believe this!" he blurted. "This...this is wonderful!"

"Well, there're more to come, Frederick, but before we start any of the festivities, we'd like you to open your present."

Frank Jones handed his son a small box with a ribbon tied around it. "Go on, open it. We're all dying to see what it is."

Fred pulled back the lid and found a single key attached to a gold key ring. He scrutinized the key, as though it were some sacred object. "And this is?" he asked, completely puzzled by the mysterious gift.

Frank and George laughed. "Why don't you come over this way and see what that key unlocks?" George Blake led the boy to a large, sheet covered parcel in the driveway; he ripped the sheet off, revealing a brand-new, 1968 Volkswagon van. Fred's jaw dropped once again.

"It's for you, since it's your sixteenth birthday," George explained, "but it's also sort of for all of you." He gestured to the driver's side door. "Go on. Get in."

As though in a trance, Fred slid into the driver's side, adjusting the seat and mirrors to his comfort.

"Seats three comfortably across the front, and the other two can sit in the back," Frank explained. "Go on, try it out, kids. Get in."

Daphne slid in from the passenger's side, followed by Velma; Shaggy and his dog bounded into the back.

"Like, this is groovy, man!" Shaggy exclaimed. "Weekend, here we come!"

"Go on," Frank urged, "take her for a test drive."

Marilyn eyed Frank with a worried look. "Are you sure it's safe?" she asked.

"Of course it is. And Fred is a wonderful driver. He passed his driving test with the highest possible score." He added, aside, "And I wouldn't have let him take the others if I didn't trust him or think it was safe."

Marilyn nodded, her fears only slightly allayed.

Fred inserted the key into the ignition and fired up the engine. Shifting carefully into reverse, he backed out of the driveway before shifting again and taking the vehicle forward.

The three sets of parents and Frank watched, slightly overcome by their own emotions. The children were growing up so quickly, yet their bond didn't seem to fade at all, if anything, it seemed to be growing stronger. Frank beamed with pride at his son; the boy was turning into a handsome, well-composed youth, in spite of the trauma from his early childhood. Frank surreptitiously wiped a tear from his eye, wishing that Kim could have lived to see her son at this moment.

_**A/N:**If parts of this story looked familiar, you're right. The scenes between Fred and Daphne were adapted from an earlier fic of mine entitled "Falling." I did this purposely, to maintain continuity among my stories. _


	6. Part 6: The Quest Begins

PART 6:The Quest Begins

"Well, that was some adventure, wasn't it gang?" asked Fred as he slid into his usual spot in the corner booth at the Malt Shop.

"I'll say," replied Daphne. "Who would have thought that a simple Social Studies assignment like visiting a museum and writing a report about it would turn into such an adventure?"

"Like, I would never have guessed it, man," chimed Shaggy, getting a word in between chugs of his milkshake. "And I bet the rest of the kids in the class didn't have as much fun on this project as we did."

"And," added Velma, "all of us received an A on the assignment for having solved that 'extra' mystery about the meaning of the hieroglyphics carved on that figure." She smiled proudly a she spoke her next line. "How many high school students can claim they made a discovery that baffled even an expert like the professor?"

Fred chuckled. "Not many. But, then again, not many high school students are in the business of solving mysteries like we are!"

"Scooby-Dooby-Doo!" the dog howled, as though echoing the blond man's sentiments, his action inciting a burst of laughter from the four teens.

Fred let the memory of earlier that evening linger in his mind awhile as he stared at the ceiling in his bedroom. The four of them were certainly making names for themselves, solving small cases here and there, but for all their notoriety as detectives, one case still gnawed at the blond boy's conscience. It wasn't a recent case, it wasn't even one of their own, but it was one to which seventeen year old Fred Jones felt a personal connection. Sighing, Fred rolled over in bed and shut his eyes. The image of the teenage Fred and his four companions at the Malt Shop faded slowly, replaced by another image as the blond boy drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

Officer Rogers was working late at the precinct that night, poring over police reports and miscellaneous case files. Ever since his son and the other kids had gotten into the mystery solving "business", Samuel Rogers found himself with more time available to concentrate on cases more important than those involving less-than-reputable adults in Halloween costumes. _I gotta give them credit_, he thought to himself_, for a bunch of kids, they sure have a good track record, perhaps even a better record than some of us here in the department._

"Still here, Rogers?"

Samuel looked up to see the chief-of-police standing behind him, the senior officer's comment catching him slightly off guard. "Huh? Yeah, just going through some old files and stuff."

"You know, your son and his friends have been a big help in solving many of our cases."

"I know, I was just thinking about that. I just wish we could get their help on our most baffling case, you know, the Jones murder."

The chief shook his head. "Look, Rogers, I know how close you are to that family, and that this case probably holds special meaning for you because of that—it's logical. But it's been ten years and we haven't had a single new lead. There's just nothing we can do anymore."

Samuel Rogers lifted his head in an uncharacteristic display of begging. "Look, Chief, can't we keep it open for awhile longer? Just for another month? I promised Frank that we would find whoever did this."

"There haven't been any new leads in the last ten years; why should there be any in the next month?"

Officer Rogers sighed, resigned to his superior's decision. "I guess you're right, Chief." Shaking his head, he closed the dossier, stamped the word 'unsolved' across the front of the folder and placed it in a filing cabinet.

* * *

"Mom!" A tiny, blond seven-year-old boy screamed after being separated from his mother in the crowded shopping center parking lot. He craned his neck to see where she had gone, but she was quickly absorbed by crowd, out of sight of the little boy. Around him, faceless, disembodied shopping center patrons rushed past him like spectral figures passing through a wall and showing no concern for the well-being of a terrified child.

"Mom!!" the boy yelled again, but his screams were lost in the crowd, absorbed by the masses of bodies around him. The spectral bodies just seemed to appear out of nowhere, reproducing themselves like splitting amoebas and creating a massive throng of humanity that seemed to have as its sole purpose to separate the boy from his mother.

From somewhere distant, the boy thought he heard a reply. "Freddie! Freddie, where are you?"

The little boy knew the sound immediately and began calling back. "Over here, Mom! Help me!"

The mother apparently did not hear her son's cries, for she continued to call his name. "Freddie! Freddie! Frederick Jones, where are you?"

"I'm here," the boy called back, jumping up and down and gesticulating wildly, but his cries and gestures were futile. The disembodied voice calling his name could not hear his pleas and the phantom throng of humanity just grew ever larger, reproducing itself and increasing the distance between the boy and his mother.

As suddenly as it started, the spectral fission stopped and the faceless crowd parted to either side, revealing a path that would lead the boy to his mother. "Mom!!" the little blond boy called ecstatically, extending his arms and running towards the female figure.

"Freddie!" the woman called, extending her arms towards the boy in a similar gesture.

The blond boy ran as fast as his seven-year-old legs could carry him, but his steps were stymied by something. He seemed to be trapped in slow motion, yet with every step, he got closer to his goal. He could see the woman with her arms outstretched and with renewed vigor, he would quicken his pace, like an exhausted marathon runner within a few yards of the finish line. He could hear her calling him.

"Freddie!"

From out of the crowd stepped a dark clothed figure brandishing a shotgun. The cloaked figure took aim and fired. Strangely, the speed of the bullet seemed unaffected by the slow motion state that surrounded the boy. The bullet struck the woman and knocked her dead on the ground.

* * *

"**_GAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH_**!!" Fred Jones sat bolt upright in the dark, his heart beating wildly. It was not the first time he had had the dream, but each successive episode revealed more and more detail. The content of the dreams terrified him more than any of the phony ghosts he and the gang had encountered on their adventures. He knew now that he was the little boy in the dream and that the woman was his mother, but he still could not identify the cloaked shooter and was not quite sure if he wanted to. Sweat dripped from his forehead as he panted, trying to return his pulse and breathing pattern to normal. _It's only a dream_, he repeated to himself,_ it's not real_, but something at the back of his mind told him that it was very real and that he would someday have to identify the face of the cloaked shooter. Heaving a huge sigh, he dropped back into bed, but lay awake. He feared what he might see if he were to go back to sleep.

Fred trudged sleepily from his last class that afternoon to the after-school football practice, wishing that he could skip it. He had not gone back to sleep after waking up from his nightmare the previous night and had spent most of the day in a half-asleep daze. Approaching the athletic field, he could see and hear the cheer squad practicing their routines. He stopped at the entrance to the field and watched, leaning against the chain-link fence for support. He had seen the cheerleaders practice hundreds of times, but remained fascinated by their graceful, acrobatic moves. His gaze fell upon one girl in particular and he watched intently as her pretty, red hair swayed rhythmically with her every move. _Gosh, she's beautiful_, he thought to himself. Why hadn't he noticed her beauty before? It was not as though he hadn't had the opportunity to do so. He had known the redheaded girl almost all his life, and whenever the gang was working on a case, he always made a concerted effort to accompany her.

The redheaded girl took a flying leap, gracefully opening and closing her legs in a scissors jump. Fred watched her effortlessly execute the move, the sight of her sending a strange, electric sensation through his body and purging it of all sleepiness. An image was forming in his mind. He imagined himself alone with Daphne on their next case, chivalrously carrying a torch as he escorted her through dark, cavernous passages. He longed to make the image a reality, but just could not work up the nerve to tell her how he felt.

The girls took a momentary break from their practices, and Fred lingered awhile longer by the fence, hoping that the redhead would catch a glimpse of him. She did.

"Hi Freddie," she intoned, cheerfully.

The blond boy's heart began racing. "Uh, hi...uh...Daphne. That was a...really good jump you did...there."

Daphne smiled in response. Very good at reading facial expressions, she recognized the nervousness that Fred was consciously trying to hide, but unconsciously manifesting.

"So, uh, are you and Velma getting together this weekend?" he asked nervously.

The redhead chuckled. "Of course we are. Why wouldn't we? Shaggy already said he's coming..." There was a momentary pause, then she continued, "are you in?"

Fred struggled to find the right words to say, but he was so tired that the words just wouldn't come to him. "Uh...uh..."

"Hey, Jones, move it! You're late!"

Coach Keller's loud admonition interrupted the boy's thought. Snapping back to reality, he blurted, "Yeah, I'll uhm, see you Friday," as he turned his back to Daphne to join the other football players already on the field.

Daphne shrugged. Fred could be so enigmatic at times. _But he's so handsome._ She lingered awhile to watch Fred, just as he had done for her, before returning to her own practice session.

* * *

"I hated to do it as much as I hate to tell you this," Samuel Rogers explained, "but we had no choice but to close the case for lack of leads."

Frank Jones lowered his head in sadness. "I understand," he intoned, softly. "Thank you for your efforts, though."

"If anything new comes up, we'll let you know."

Frank gave a wordless 'thank you,' as Officer Rogers departed.

"What seems to be the problem?" Fred asked, walking down the stairs from his room at the same moment that his father closed the door.

Frank Jones shook his head. "Nothing, Fred. It's nothing."

The boy knew better. "They can't solve the case, can they?" he commented.

"No. They closed it due to lack of leads."

"Well, maybe the gang and I can take over then?" It was more of a request than an inquiry.

Frank didn't miss a beat. "No way, Fred," he replied, emphatically. "It's beyond you guys' abilities."

"But we've solved cases like this before, why would this one be any different?"

"Two reasons, Freddie. One, because it is too dangerous; and two, because you are too emotionally attached to this case to be objective. Even if the police asked you guys to take the case, I wouldn't let you."

"Why not?"

"Because it's a murder case, and people who commit murder can be dangerous. If they catch you meddling in their affairs, you could be their next target, or even Daphne, Velma or Shaggy. The police know their own abilities, and if they think it is right to close the case, then I am going to respect that decision, as difficult as it may be for me."

"I still think that if the gang and I were allowed to investigate a bit, we could uncover some new leads."

Frank Jones stood his ground, speaking more out of parental concern than lack of faith in his son's abilities. "I said 'no,' Frederick. What part of 'no' do you not understand?" The older man's expression grew uncharacteristically stern as he spoke his next words. "You are not getting involved in solving your mother's murder and that is final. I do not want to hear any more about this, understood? And if I find out that you and your friends **_are_** getting involved in this, then all of you will be in a lot of trouble. Do I make myself clear?"

Fred nodded in resignation. "Yes, father."

Frank's expression softened a bit. "It's not that I don't trust you, Fred," he explained, "it's that I already lost someone I love, and I don't want to lose you too." Frank hugged his son, even though he knew that at age seventeen, Fred disliked receiving open affection from his father. "By the way," the elder Jones added on a lighter note, "Daphne called. She wants to know if she should expect you to join her and the gang at the beach this Friday night."

* * *

The crowd of spectral figures parted, revealing a path that would lead the boy to his mother. He began running towards her in slow motion, cursing himself for his lack of speed on his short legs. The sound of a gun firing broke the silence.

The blond boy screamed. "Mom!!!!!!"

He rushed towards the woman's lifeless body, both in an attempt to rescue her and in an attempt to confront the attacker. Holding his mother's dead body, he bravely turned his head to face the killer. He could hear the attacker cackling evilly. "Nice try, Frederick, but you're too late."

The blond boy looked up, only to see to his horror that the black cloaked figure had no face, yet, it knew his name.

"You're too late, too late!" it taunted, punctuating its heartless comments with evil cackles. "Too late! Too late! Too late!"

Suddenly, the figure threw back its dark hood, revealing its face. It was a face the blond boy knew well. It was the face of someone the blond boy had trusted. The little boy screamed in terror at the revelation. "Noooooooooooh!"

The last sound of the little boy's scream corresponded with a gasp from seventeen year old Fred. Panting wildly, he looked around his room, as though verifying that the hooded figure was only a figment of his imagination. _There has **got** to be a reason why I am having these dreams,_ he thought to himself as his rational mind slowly returned, _Velma would know; what would she say?_ He thought for a moment about the images in the dream—each was imbued with some sort of meaning, but the one which rang in his mind more than any of them was that of the little boy confronting the hooded criminal. Fred had already identified that he was the little, blond boy, but until that moment, he did not know exactly why he was seeing himself in such a predicament. Now he knew. It was as if little Freddie Jones was imploring his seventeen-year old, Mystery Inc. counterpart to solve the mystery of their mother's death. Fred lay awake for a few moments, staring aimlessly at the ceiling. _I know Dad told me not to get involved_, he mused to himself, _but I have to. _His mind began slowly forming a plan for how to proceed with solving the case without letting his father, or the others, know what he was doing. Satisfied with his assessment, he fell back to sleep. It was the first restful night's sleep he had gotten in a long time.

* * *

The final class bell rang on a bright, autumn afternoon as throngs of high schoolers poured out of the buildings and into the parking lot where they clamored into their cars and drove away for the weekend. As he had done since his freshman year, he stood by his locker and waited for the rest of the gang to meet him.

The redhead was the first to arrive. "Hi, Freddie!" she intoned, cheerfully. She planted an unexpected peck on the blond boy's cheek, catching him by surprise and sending a rush of emotions through his body.

"Uh, what was that for...Daphne?" he stuttered.

The redhead giggled. "No reason. I just felt like it." She giggled again, her actions unknowingly observed by Shaggy and Velma, both of whom knew that there was more to Daphne's motives than just 'I felt like it.' For months now, the redhead had been revealing to Velma her secret crush on the blond boy, and unbeknownst to them both, Shaggy had been having similar conversations with Fred. _Maybe now_, they both thought, _Fred and Daph will finally say something to each other._

"So, like, you gonna join us for that beach party tonight, Fred?" queried Shaggy.

"Uh, yeah," Fred replied, still reeling from Daphne' sudden display of affection, "but can I, drop by and pick you guys up later this evening rather than just going straight from school? Dad wants me to come home to help him around the house with a few things."

"That's cool," the skinny boy replied, "can you still give us rides home?"

"Get in, gang," Fred gestured, "the sooner I get back home to finish what I have to do, the sooner I can pick you guys up."

Daphne was the last to be dropped off that afternoon; Fred had planned it deliberately that way. "I wish you didn't have that commitment with your Dad," said Daphne, somewhat dejected, "we won't have as much time together as we usually do." She looked Fred straight in the eyes as she spoke those words, her grey eyes sparkling flirtatiously.

Fred's mind reeled for a few moments. Should he tell her the truth about why he wanted the extra time after school? He flashed back briefly to the day of his mother's funeral, remembering how the little redhead had come up to him, taken his hands and apologized for his loss. If anyone would understand his motives, she would, but he knew that if he told Daphne, she might tell Velma who would then tell Shaggy and then the whole gang would become involved in what was Fred's personal case. _No_, he reasoned, _don't tell her the truth. At least, not yet._ "I...I know, Daph," he replied, "I wish I could have more time with you guys too, but this is just something I have to do."

The redhead's shoulders slumped in defeat. "But I promise I will try to finish as quickly as I can, okay?"

Daphne looked at the blond boy. "Promise?" she asked, taking his hands.

Fred nodded. "I promise."

She gave him another gentle peck on the cheek before turning to leave. "There's one more in it for you if you keep that promise."

Fred grinned, broadly. _I will._

He waited until Daphne was inside her house before climbing back into the driver's seat and easing the van away from the curb, pointing it in the direction of the Coolsville library.

It was less than two hours before closing time, but Fred decided that he wouldn't need that much time. Pushing open the heavy oak doors, he walked straight to the reference desk in the center of the room.

"Can I help you?" a middle-aged, white haired librarian asked.

"Uh, yeah. I need to find some newspapers from about 10 years ago."

Fred followed the librarian into the basement reference room; she led him into a large, locked room piled wall to wall with newspapers and magazines. "I can't promise you anything, as we don't usually keep periodicals for more than ten years, but hopefully you will find what you are looking for among these."

Fred thanked the woman and began his journey back in time, keeping a constant eye on both his watch and the clock on the wall. _I'm not going to stay here for more than two hours_, he told himself. He had a date with the gang that afternoon, and he didn't want to be late for it, especially after what Daphne had said to him.


End file.
